


Dragontail Suppressants and Schmetterling Cream

by SpaceAceAmeko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After-care, Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Assault, Blindness, Cuddle buddies Blaise & Draco, Dorks in Love, Drama, Finally got some nsfw in there, Hurt & Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Marks, Omega Draco Malfoy, Scenting, badly written smut prolly, pls enjoy anyway, suppressants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 45,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceAceAmeko/pseuds/SpaceAceAmeko
Summary: Harry goes and takes the tub, Draco looking surprised before glaring. “Sonowyou’ve decided you can think with your head instead of your dick?” Draco rolls his eyes and turns around, easily letting Harry apply the cream to his inflamed skin. Draco gives these little sighing moans that shoot desire straight down to Harry’s dick.But they never make it. The only thing on his mind that was more powerful than his desire was his confusion over the fact that Draco was an omega.And that Blaise knew.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Hi there! And welcome! I have no idea what I’m writing. Please enjoy this self-indulgent fic. I’m totally a slut for omega Draco._

Harry could call it intuition; he could call it experience, habit. He could even call it pattern. And even though the war is ended and bygones are bygones, habits are hard to break. So when Draco started sneaking off and around during off times of the night and day for no real foreseeable reason Harry could could up with, he fell back into his own ways.

 

He’d even enlisted the help of Ron and Hermione, for which the latter complained and talked their ears off as she brewed the polyjuice potions.

 

“Honestly Harry,” She says, irritation in her voice. “You’re not little kids anymore, surely you don’t _still_ think he’s plotting against you or something?”

 

Harry pouts all the way, arms crossed and petulant.

 

“He’s up to something, ‘Mione. I just know it.”

 

Hermione sets him with the most unimpressed look as she pours a vial of that disgusting juice for him.

 

“Don’t come crying to me then, when it blows up in your face.” She warns, handing it over. “It should last an hour or so.”

 

Harry gratefully takes it and downs it, groaning through the change.

 

* * *

 

 

Sneaking into the new revamped Slytherin dorms was actually a lot easier than he had thought it would be. Mostly because he looked Slytherin and he had learned of the passcode years ago when he and Ron polyjuiced into Crabb and Goyle. From there, though, he had to guess which way he needed to go while still looking the every bit the pompous pureblood Blaise Zabini that belonged there.

 

Harry followed the faint smell he knows was Draco Malfoy— something gentle, just a tad sweet. Like freshly laundered sheets. If he had any kind of scent at all, he means. For a beta, he didn’t have _any_ kind of scent on him. Not that betas came with much of a scent to begin with, but Malfoy was particularly always had a freshly laundered scent clinging to him.

 

“Blaise? Is that you?” Draco asks, though he looks up and straight at Harry, and squints his eyes. “Can you help me find my glasses? I don’t remember where I put the blasted things.” He huffs in annoyance. “Why must everything be so dark and droll in here? Why does my case have to be black? Why couldn’t they make it easily seen, like a neon green?”

 

“Glasses…?” Harry asks. He’s _never_ seen Draco with glasses. Why should he be wearing them anyway?

 

“Yes, yes, Blaise. _Glasses._ I’ll hear about how you think these potions are gonna make me permanently blind later, but for now help me find the bloody things.” Draco is shoving his face so close to things. Harry looks around and finds a pair innocently sitting on a stack of books near him. He picks them up and goes over to Draco.

 

“Here,” he says, and unthinkingly slides them onto Draco’s face. Draco stops, brow furrowing at such intimacy and Harry nearly freezes at thinking he’s done the wrong thing. But Draco gives an eyebrow raise and a helpless grin.

 

“Not even a minute alone and you flirt with me, Blaise? Be careful, I think your desperation is showing.” Draco rolls his eyes and pushes the glasses up on his nose more.

 

They suit him. They’re black rimmed, squared, but not too huge. But the lense is thick, thicker than even Harry had.

 

“Now come on, hurry up. Don’t have all day.” Draco waves his hand and opens a potions book and starts to gather ingredients, strewn all around a set of desks on one side of the spacious room.

 

Harry helps, absentmindedly.

 

“If you’re this blind, how do you see in class?” Harry slips, but curiosity was eating at him. Draco snorts a pretentious laugh.

 

“And here I thought you’d already figured it out by now; I thought you were smart.” Harry bristles.

 

“I have, I just wanted to see if my answer was correct.” Draco rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe him.

 

“Obviously, I memorized every step down the hall. Every spell, every page number of all the books, what they say. What would it look like for a _Malfoy_ to be anything but perfect?” Draco sighs, beginning the potion. “I’d be the laughing stock of the entire Wizarding community— more than I already am.”

 

“Why would you be?” Harry asks, and Draco turns to give him the most incredulous look.

 

“Have you got maggots eating your brain, Blaise?” Draco asks. “If these potions are hurting anyone, it’s _you._ Affecting your perfect memory, is it?” Harry pauses, hoping he didn’t say anything wrong. At the silence Draco looks up and looks him over, a slight scowl on his pretty face.

 

“You sure you’re alright? You're looking a bit ashy.” Draco comments. “You haven’t even broken out your so called ‘charm’. Maybe you should go to miss Pomfrey. Make sure you aren’t getting sick from brewing this.”

 

“No,” Harry says a bit too quickly. “I’ll be alright.” And he remembers Blaise is an alpha, and is also a flirt. Heavy flirt. Which means he obviously attempts to flirt with Draco in private, so he saddles up next to him and puts an arm around Draco’s waist, trying to be like him, and realizes how small and petite Draco’s waist really is; uncharacteristic of a male beta. “But if I’m not, will you make me feel better?”

 

Draco looks to the offending arm then to Harry unamused and Harry thought he ruined it until Draco plucks his fingers from his waist and drops them. “Obviously, you aren’t that sick.”

 

They finish the potion, whatever it was, and Draco fills four stoppered vials of it.

 

“Should last me a few months..” he says to himself, then back to Harry. “I need help with the other thing.” Harry nodded dumbly. Draco turned and started to unbutton his shirt, and Harry saw the bandaid-like covering on his skin around his neck and shoulders— where scent glands usually were, especially for omegas. But why would Draco need those? Draco sits on a stool, shirt hanging off at his elbows and he starts picking at the edges to get at them, getting it to peel a bit off. “There. Just as usual. Rip it off like a bandaid.”

 

“But—“ Harry starts, even though he stood up behind him. “Won’t it hurt?” Draco scoffs.

 

“Oh please, I’ve had worse. Just do it, Zabini.” Harry carefully takes the peeled tab and peels it off slowly, until Draco exclaimed. “Goddamn it Blaise, just sodding do it!” Harry ripped the rest off in one tug, Draco letting out a pained cry. Once off Harry froze when the scent from Malfoy flooded his senses.

 

It was thick, sweet, cloying, and homey all at once. Like sitting by the campfire in the winter with a lover— don’t ask him how that made any sense. Draco was speaking but he didn’t hear it until his cheek was slapped and he froze, watching Draco closely as he stood to go to the other side of the room to a mirror and rips away the other two patches, muttering under his breath.

 

“Useless alpha males..” Draco’s pained whimper hit him deep and he had the overwhelming urge to comfort him, give him everything he needed, especially when that scent turned a little bitter with the pain. Draco took a tub of cream from a desk near his bed. “What’re you standing there for? If you aren’t gonna help, then leave. I’ve no need for an alpha nitwit.” Draco returns to the mirror, trying to apply it by himself.

 

Harry goes and takes the tub, Draco looking surprised before glaring. “So _now_ you’ve decided you can think with your head instead of your dick?” Draco rolls his eyes and turns around, easily letting Harry apply the cream to his inflamed skin. Draco gives these little sighing moans that shoot desire straight down to Harry’s dick.

 

But they never make it. The only thing on his mind that was more powerful than his desire was his confusion over the fact that Draco was an omega.

 

And that Blaise knew.


	2. Chapter 2

“No, you guys, you don’t understand. I _can’t_ tell you!” Harry pleads. Ron looks sympathetic.

 

“That bad, eh?” Harry groans in frustration.

 

After that stint with Draco in his dorm room, Harry had run away with his metaphorical tail between his legs with a quick and half-assed excuse, no longer caring that Draco would think it was out of character, just wanting to _get the hell out_ of there. He’d hid in the bathroom, waiting for the polyjuice to wear off before pushing the scent from his mind and stealthily as he could, went back to his own room, grabbed new clothes, and threw the rest at the bottom of the laundry bin, hoping beyond hope no one else would catch a whiff of it before he could shove it in the washer.

 

Harry met up with them at the mess hall at lunch, sulking and tight lipped and definitely not making eye contact until Ron finally got him to speaking.

 

Now he wished he hadn’t. Now that he’s said it, _anything_ about it, it just.. it needed to come out. He was sick and tired of being haunted by that scent. Like warm milk and brown sugar and prickling on his tongue like pop rocks.

 

“Alright— we have to go where no one can hear us.” Harry whispers harshly, looking around like anybody was actively listening to their shenanigans. He caught the blond-white of Draco’s hair across the mess hall, sitting between Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, talking amongst themselves and not once glancing to their table with distrust; it didn’t even enter into Draco’s mind that something was off.

 

Harry gets up and leads out, Hermione following on his heels. Ron swiping a bread roll before he, too, trailed after his girlfriend. Harry led them to a secluded part of the castle, only after walking around in circles to make sure they weren’t followed and gaining the annoyance of his friends.

 

Once stopped, they look at Harry expectantly. Harry takes a breath. “Draco… he’s hiding… he’s an omega.”

 

“What?!”

 

“Shh!!” Harry looks around but spot no one. _“That’s_ why I didn’t wanna say anything!” Harry says, remembering that intoxicating, cloying, and all encompassing scent. “Blaise was helping him with a potion. To hide his pheromones and scent under this cream.” Harry takes a breath, massaging the bridge of his nose. _“Merlin._ And Zabini _knew.”_ Harry was literally a breath away from hitting his head on the nearby wall. Why the idea of Zabini helping, let alone knowing, brought some unwanted feelings and emotions out from his core, he had no idea.

 

It wasn’t like Malfoy and Zabini were all over each other and dating or something… were they?

 

 _Merlin,_ did that just bid unwanted pictures in his head.

 

“Are you sure? Coulda just imagined it. Polyjuice has some of them effects, right?” Ron glances to Hermione who looked a bit worried.

 

“Not nearly to that extent, Ron.”

 

“I’m _not_ hallucinating it! I changed right before I got here! His scent was soaked in my clothes. Merlin, I think it might’ve even soaked into my _pores.”_ He complains. Not really. Harry delicately sniffed at his arms, his shoulders, catching a delicate whiff of that unnerving scent.

 

Hermione delicately sniffed at him as well.

 

“Besides something sweet, I’m not really picking up anything that screams omega.” She says, placating.

 

“Exactly! It’s sweet!” Harry says, snapping his fingers. “It was like getting a mouthful of condensed milk.”

 

“Condensed milk? Seriously, mate?” Ron looked exasperated but took a whiff of Harry, wrinkling his nose. “Holy hell..” Ron makes a gagging noise. Harry doesn’t pout. _He doesn’t._ He has no reason to feel offended at Ron’s reaction to Draco’s scent. “It’s like someone burnt sugar in your throat. Good thinking on changing your clothes.” Ron stepped back. “You’d have definitely attracted the attention of everyone in the mess hall, smelling like that.”

 

Harry sighs, heavily.

 

“What am I gonna do?” He asks, rubbing his face.

 

“Well, was that all he was doing?” Hermione asks, the picture of rational thought.

 

“Yes..” Harry replies, giving it a tone of _what’s your point?_

 

“Then do nothing.” She shrugs. “It’s not your place to worry about that. He’s not plotting revenge; he’s not planning on taking over the school; he’s not doing _anything_ that would warrant you following him around again.” Harry was baffled, was she really saying that? “He’s just protecting his own skin.” Hermione shoots a look at both of them. “You’d know if you were paying attention in social studies.” She sighed.

  
  
“Just _leave it,_ Harry.”


	3. Chapter 3

But you know, that was just the thing. Harry  _ couldn’t _ leave it alone, for whatever reason. He might not be following Draco around like he had done in sixth year, but it was close to it. His eyes followed Draco’s form as it passed by; they watched him as he threw potions into his cauldron and answers questions by their teacher in classes they had together. 

 

Now that he knows, how could Harry  _ not _ have known Draco was an omega?

 

Draco Malfoy was the epitome of one, for all they’ve learned about them. He’s small— petite. Not overly so, but from when Harry had an arm around his waist, it had a pretty obvious dip above his hip which were, by comparison, rather soft. Not that Harry spent a lot of time checking him out, at least not since he found out, but now that he  _ knows  _ he can’t unsee it, and the evidence stares at him like a dementor at his face. 

 

Draco was prissy about cleanliness, about the softness of the materials he wore. Although that could just as easily be in part of his aristocratic and uptight upbringing. He was soft around the edges— enough but also barely so that Harry never put forth any kind of active thought about it. Sure, he has sharp features, but around his hips, his thighs,  _ his ass— _ they sure were soft. 

 

The way he carried himself. His posture, also can be blamed on his pure-blooded upbringing. 

 

There are tons more, he thinks, but is unable to come up with more than that. At least not when Draco was sat next to him in class idly flipping through the textbook the teacher told them to. He was flipping one at a time, every once in a while his eyes turn into a glare and Harry remembers him saying  _ I memorized every step down the hall. Every spell, every page number of all the books. _

 

Draco smooths out the page he turned to, taking note of how Harry watched him and he scowls. Pretty pale-pink lips downturning. 

 

“Can I help you, Potter?” He asks in such a pretentious,  _ Malfoy _ way that Harry has a hard time compensating it against the smell he remembers. Even this close, Harry couldn’t smell a  _ lick _ of that scent, so good were the things he used. Harry meets his eye and jolts, snapping his eyes forward.

 

“Nothin.” 

 

* * *

 

It had been another few weeks until Harry couldn’t take it anymore. 

 

_ Every time  _ he passes by Malfoy and that cloying scent doesn’t come with him, it drives him up the wall. Now that he  _ knows  _ it should be on him, following Malfoy’s body like a trail of fabrics that he should easily be able to follow to find said boy without needing the Marauder's map. 

 

Like minute by excruciating minute, it drove him mad until he just couldn’t take it anymore.

 

The next time he passed by Malfoy was on his way to the mess hall and that scent  _ didn’t _ follow him, he grabbed his arm. Draco jerked in his walk, eyes widening as his head whipped to see who had the gall to grab him. Draco’s eyes narrowed— either in a glare or to see, could have been both.

 

_ “Potter. _ Why am I not surprised?” He sounded so  _ blasé  _ about it. Though, to be fair, if anyone was allowed to sound blasé about this situation, it was Draco. “Care to explain why you’ve got me in a death grip? Or can I presume my walk to dinner?” Draco tries to pull his arm from his grip, little gentle tugs and Harry didn’t notice until now that he had practically outgrown Draco in the last year. Standing at about four inches taller, hand practically able to wrap around his upper arm, though not all the way. 

 

Omegas were petite, he remembers learning. No matter if they were female or male. Thin extremities, wider hips.  _ Birthing hips. _ Draco’s clothes were too loose to see them in all their glory, though. Not that he was thinking about that stuff— nope, nuh-uh. 

 

“I need to speak to you.” Harry says, voice tight, and Draco tenses, narrowing his eyes more. “Not here.” He says as Draco opens his mouth to, no doubt, say something along the lines of that, only to be shut promptly by Harry pulling him away. Through the throng of students heading to dinner while he lead Draco to someplace secluded— although almost all students were now in the mess hall.

 

Draco yanks out of his hold when Harry paused, sequestered behind some stairs.

 

“Well? What is it you want?” Draco demands haughtily. Harry doesn’t know if it’s because of his newfound knowledge that he hears the unsure tremor in Draco’s tone. No doubt he couldn’t see all the winding and twisting Harry took them to get to this place. Probably feeling out of place and hesitant he couldn’t find it way back without assistance. 

 

“I know.” 

 

Draco’s face scrunched up in confusement.

 

“Know? What in bloody hell do you know, Potter?” He scoffs, folding his arms. “Please do enlighten me, _ oh great Savior, _ what you know that would merit you pulling me to Merlin-knows-where.” He makes a sweep on his arm, exaggerating a  _ go on _ movement. His greater-than-thou attitude was something that used to get under his skin, but now he finds it being used as a protective measure; a way to get under his skin so they could have a sense of normalcy. Because it’s been a long minute when they were really,  _ truly, _ cross with each other.

 

_ “I know.” _ Harry repeats, trying to add extra emphasis to show how knowledgeable without actually  _ saying  _ it. Draco groans his frustration, close to pulling out his hair. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, just spit it out!”

 

“I know.” Harry says, voice now calmed in the face of Draco’s exasperation. Instead of divulging, though, he reaches out a hand and places it on Draco’s neck, effectively cutting off any retort he had opened his mouth to say.

 

Draco froze, his eyes widen, the pupils drowning out the silver-blue before constricting in his panic and he jerks back like Harry’s touch had burned him. Maybe it had. Harry knows his body temperature naturally runs hotter. Under his hand, Draco was chilled, even through the clothes and bandages. He had read somewhere, too, that omegas typically ran pretty cool. That was why they fit so perfectly for alphas. Hot and cold, yin and yang. Harry would be surprised at his own poetic mind if he weren’t trained on Draco.

 

“What the hell?” Draco practically whispered, standing barely within arms reach, Harry’s hand still outstretched, feeling the chill linger. Harry followed the line of his neck as it bobbed with a swallow. He could see the terror radiating off him. Like Harry would do something, tell someone. Draco’s own hand goes up to touch the place Harry did and he narrows his eyes. “What the  _ hell _ do you know?” He whispers again. 

 

“That you’re—“ Harry paused again, finding it stuck in his throat. Draco’s eyes narrowed more.

 

“That I’m  _ what?” _ Harry pursed his lips, meeting Draco’s narrowed eyes, knowing he’d be just a big blur to him, even standing so close.

 

“Omega.” Harry whispers, seeing how Draco’s entire body just tensed up like he’d been doused in cold water. And maybe it may feel like he had, Harry reasonsed. If Draco was going through such troubles to keep his secondary sex a secret, there has  _ got _ to be a good reason for it. “I know that you’re an omega.” He said, a little louder.

 

There was a heartbeat, two, three, before Draco forcefully relaxed.

 

“I have no idea what you’re getting at, Potter.” He says, moving to step away, movement stilted and jerky and Harry raised his hand again, this time slipping fingers just underneath the collar of his shirt and feeling the rough patch of the bandage. Draco jerked, roughly, and slapped his hand away.  _ “Don’t touch me.”  _ He hissed, a purely omega sound, Harry was sure. Alphas growl; omegas hiss.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He says, arms up in mock surrender. “I won’t tell.” He adds on, because he won’t. Well… besides Hermione and Ron, obviously, since they already know.. But,  _ besides _ them, he doesn’t plan on telling anyone. And he doesn’t plan to blackmail him, or, or—  _ whatever else _ he could do with this information.

 

“And  _ how,” _ Draco starts, taking a measured breath to offset how short they’ve gotten. “Do you know that tad-bit of information?” He asks lowly, another hiss building up in his chest but he seems to swallow it down. Of course he doesn’t accuse Zabini of anything, Harry thinks a bit bitterly. So chummy, aren’t they? Draco’s got his hand on his neck, as if that would stop Harry from feeling— touching there, if he could.

 

“I—“ Harry couldn't very well say, well, you know, I stole a sample of Blaise Zabini’s DNA and polyjuiced into him because I thought you were sneaking around too much. That is  _ such _ a crossing of trust that Harry himself couldn’t believe he did that in retrospect. Draco glared. Or just squinted. It was hard to know when you’re blind. 

 

_ “However _ you came to that information, it’s none of your business,  _ Potter.” _ He crosses his arms, waiting now. Either for Harry to leave or… Probably waiting for him to leave. And Harry doesn’t want to leave it like that, but he didn’t even know why he brought Draco out here. Or he did, but the urgency and what he wanted with it has kind of… floated away. 

 

Maybe he brought Draco all the way out to get the truth— despite knowing the truth. That scent of his that sent firecrackers dancing through his veins, torturing and pleasurable, licking the edges of his consciousness, teasing his reality like he’d never come across it. And he got it, Draco admitted— or had come to close as an admission as he would probably ever say out loud, that he was omega. That means the scent was  _ real _ and it hid under those bandages just waiting for him to smell. 

 

But the knowledge that it’s real brought his frenzied mind back to a simmer; bothering but not all encompassing. 

 

“Okay.” He says, because it was all he could say. Draco’s eyes widen a bit, surprised Harry just dropped it without some fighting— oh, there would be. Next time Harry decides he needed another dose of reality check. “Sorry,” He says again as an added measure, trying to sooth the ruffled omega. It worked, just a tad, and Draco lifts his chin haughtily. “I-I’m just gonna go back to the mess hall..” Harry clears his throat, feeling properly contrite. 

 

Harry doesn’t look back, even as he makes his way back to the mess hall at a leisurely pace. But he’s sure, as sure as he is of that honey-milk scent under those bandages, that Draco follows behind; pretending that he wasn’t following Harry back to the mess hall because he was too blind to see where he was. 


	4. Chapter 4

_Harry Potter is a bloody wanker._

 

Merlin, he wished he could write that all over the walls of Hogwarts and inside every bloody textbook.

 

Draco huffs, growling to himself as he fluffs a pillow in irritation. He pushes his glasses up more, glares at the pillow, and beats it up some more before shoving it into its proper place on his bed.

 

 _Bloody Potter and his bloody insistences._ He grumbles, flipping back onto his nest of pillow and snuggles to get comfortable. _How the bloody hell does he know, anyway?_

 

Draco takes a deep breath. He _really_ needed to stop thinking about it. Blaise would be here any minute, and he knows from experience how noncompliant he gets when Draco’s scent gets bitter when he’s upset. One of the _good_ things of being an omega, he supposes, is the scent he carries.

 

Sitting up, he looks around his nest, fluffing some more pillows in irritation, trying to work it out. He was already as dressed down as he was going to get. Black shorts, down to mid-thigh. A loose, white button-up shirt. The sheets are freshly laundered, he’s as primped and preened as a show pony; the bandages are off for the first time since his last cuddle session (the _only_ time Draco has the needs to keep wards on his room for scent blockers.  Why waste energy when you don’t need to?).

 

It’ll be fine, he reasons. Potter was too goody-goody to ever use something like this against him. So, at least in that respect, he believed Harry when he said he wouldn't tell anyone. Draco could count the amount of omegas at this school on his hands. And male omegas? He could count on one finger.

 

Him.

 

Draco would rather not be outed unless it’s a life-or-death situation. He’d rather choose all these side effects of the medications before flaunting his scent all over Hogwarts, which could very much be a danger in and of itself. Blaise he trusted, the rest of the student population, first-years or not, he wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Blaise, he knew, was also on suppressants. I was customary for pureblood to take simple doses, in the case that their chosen mate turned out to be omega. Or if one just passes by. It’d be entirely unseemly for a pureblood to drool over a passing omega, no matter their standing. Blaise was raised with something called _class._

 

When he hears the door open his eyes go to it, sagging back against his pillows in relief as Blaise walked in. It wasn’t like anybody else would go near his dorm room but that didn’t mean nobody would _try_ to.

 

Blaise mumbled some spells as he came in, charming the door locked for no others to disturb and walked without preamble over to the bed, depositing his own pillow and blanket into Draco’s nest haphazardly. Draco pouts, giving a light glare before shoving the pillow into place, just at the border of his nest on the outside. Being blocked in by an alpha’s scent made the cuddling just a little more peaceful.

 

“Feeling any better?” Blaise asks, sitting on the bed and scooting back onto it once Draco had lined the outside with the blanket he brought in. “Less of a grumpus?” Draco _definitely_ galred at being called that. “Oh, nope. Guess I was wrong. Still got your knickers in a twist?” Draco groaned and shoved him. It couldn’t be considered playful, but it certainly wasn’t meant to send Blaise sprawling on the floor either. Blaise grins, taking his place on the bed and flops back onto the mounds of pillows.

 

“I have a very _valid_ reason to have my knickers in a twist.” Draco says, trying not to fume too much about it as he slides up to Blaise’s side and gets comfortable. It was easy to do. Blaise and him have been doing this awhile, even before Draco officially presented. Though, in hindsight, it should have alerted him that he was an omega. Who else would like cuddling to such an extent that they’d set up cuddle-dates? Few people, he’s sure.

 

“Do tell,” Blaise hums, wiggling back into the bed to get more comfortable, keeping an arm loosely around Draco, drawing lines into his shoulder. He had a nice scent to him, Blaise. It was like warmth and campfires and embers. It wasn’t too potent, mainly in part due to the suppressants he takes. His body was the right amount of muscle and leanness for Draco to curl around.

 

“I don’t want to.” Draco says, pouting and uncaring how childish he was as he nuzzles into his shoulder. Come morning they’d wash off their scents and Draco would once again need to put on the dastardly scent blocking cream. Another thing Blaise’s scent is good for, is for soothing his rattled nerves, not to mention aleving some of the inflammation on his glands. Draco had no idea why it did that, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. After a moment’s silence, he speaks again. “Maybe later..” He trails off. _Eventually,_ he would need to tell him. Tell _someone._ Luckily or unluckily for him, he only had Blaise as that someone to rant to about his omega woes.

 

Blaise hums again, already starting to drift off. Draco peeking a glance up at him to see his eyes closed, breath starting to even out. Draco lays his head back down and huffs, feeling petulant. But he knew the feeling. Eighth year was taking a lot out of all of them. Cramming to get all the things they lost thanks to the war, not to mention everything the year they missed. Not to mention all the drama, despite the inter-house unity McGonagal is promoting.

 

With a sigh, Draco closes his eyes and focuses on the smokey scent Blaise has, soothing rattled nerves and pushing his worry over Potter knowing at the back of his mind, even if it was a temporary fix. Draco feels himself melt, figuratively, of course. His body sinking better against Blaise and the bed, and soon enough, he was on the brink of consciousness, unaware of anything.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning after was pretty much like always. Draco and Blaise woke to their alarm, stretched out like cats, and proceeded to get ready for class. The good thing about waking up some hours before everyone else is Draco not needing to worry about being walked in on in the shower.

 

Freshly showered, he slips on his slacks and stands in the mirror, tub of cream in hand, working them into his glands gently. He winces, feeling as if burned, they were so inflamed. The bandages were already laid out for when Blaise decides to be done with his own shower to help him with applying them. Draco could do it himself, but it was rather difficult and if he could have Blaise help with them, he’d take it.

 

Heat fizzles just under his skin, his cheeks flushed and he paused in the application, hand resting at his shoulder. He furrows his brow, narrowing his eyes at the flush on his cheeks. Clicking his tongue, Draco grabs one of the stoppered vials he made weeks before, downing the substance with a grimace at the bitter taste.

 

“Bleh.” Draco clears his throat, drowning some water to clear the taste. He shakes it off, stoppering the finished vial and putting it back with the rest to be washed later. He still feels overly flushed and he doesn’t like it one bit. He takes a breath and goes back to the mirror, rubbing the cream in to the final spot of his glands with a grimace.

 

“Ready?” Blaise asks as he strolls in, tying his tie as the door swings closed behind him.

 

“Almost.” He says, picking up the bandages and waving them in his direction. Blaise rolls his eyes but gets the hint, coming to take them off his hands and peel off the sticky and smooths it into his neck area.

 

“They hurt? They look terrible.” Draco grits his teeth as Blaise massages in the adhesive. It felt like someone had rubbed him raw. Oh well. He chose this, anyway, he knew the risks.

 

“Of bloody course they hurt. It’s like someone took a cheese grater to my skin.” Draco breathes in a breath as Blaise smoothed down the last adhesive, effectively covering the last of his scent. “Thanks for the help, though.” He says with a little less bite as he grabs the shirt off the back of his chair and slides it on, relishing the cool fabric against his skin. “And for that other time, too.” Draco picks up his books, shoving them gently into his rucksack.

 

Draco paused as he slipped on his shoes, still feeling feverish. He makes a face. Typically the brew kicks in within ten minutes, of which have already passed. He debates for a second before grabbing a second vial, downing its contents.

 

“What other time?” Blaise asks, as he always does, when Draco tries to express gratitude.

 

“Couple weeks ago, and all the rest too.” Draco laments taking off his glasses, folding them and slipping them into the case and setting it on his night stand. He looks around, crushing down the sigh of regret at not using his glasses outside of his room. This is the price one must pay for perfection, it seems. “Can’t imagine the time I would have had without your assistance.”

 

“Mm, yes. I imagine you’d turn as uptight as Umbridge.” Draco glares in his general direction.

 

“I imagine I’d be _worse_ than that bloody arsemonger.” Draco pulls on his tie, doing it easily with quick, deft fingers from all the years he’s done so before. “Can you imagine: me, uncuddled, for an extended period of time? I’d be _unbearable.”_ Draco slips on his robes, slinging the rucksack over his shoulder. “Probably might even take up antagonism Potter.” He grins, and then remembers the day before and his grin falls into a scowl. “I might even take to antagonism now.” He mutters under his breath, leading the way out the dorms.

 

“What’d he do now?” Blaise asks, easily getting into step with him. Damn long legs.

 

“You don’t know?” Draco asks, almost full of contempt. He trusts Blaise, he does, but how _else_ would Potter know of his… condition? “Potter _knows.”_

 

 _“Knows?_ Knows what?” Blaise raises a brow. Draco stops, giving Blaise a _look_ and before long it gets through by just his expression. “Oh! _Knows!_ He _knows?_ How in the blazes does he know?” He asks, sounding flabbergasted himself. Draco takes every precaution to keep his secrets under wraps. Literally. And he knows Blaise would fill in the gaps of his indiscretion; the dynamic duo they’ve come to be.

 

“Merlin only knows. He pulled me aside yesterday; it’s why I was late to dinner. Wanker said he _knows_ and won’t tell anyone. Can you believe that?” Draco scoffs, but more for effect. They both know how… _virtuous_ Potter can get. “There hasn’t been a single crack in our strategy. Not one I can see anyway.” Draco grumbles as the stairs move to let them walk up, twitsting as they ascend to the next hallway.

 

“Although…” Draco pauses before the net bend. His brows furrow in concentration, wondering if between the time Potter taking him aside and going backwards, there was something he missed. Something innocuous, something he easily had brushed off… “There was that one time, where you were acting all squirrelly.”

 

“Squirrelly? Me?” Blaise scoffs playfully. “I am nothing if not articulate in _any_ situation, anxious or not.” Draco nods his agreement, picking up the pace again as he thinks.

 

“Yes, that’s why I thought it was odd. But the inflammation was particularly bad that day, so I didn’t even think too much on it.” Draco jerked to a halt, eyes widening. “Oh, my god.” He whispers, jaw dropping in realization.

 

“That _prat!”_ Draco growls, eyes narrowing at nothing. Blaise’s eyebrows raise in surprise. It wasn’t that his cursing was surprising, but it was that it didn’t come with context.

 

“Draco? You alright?”

 

Draco scowls, a hiss building up in his chest and he swallowed it down, coming out a slight growl.

 

“Peachy.” He says, eyes in a perpetual glare. “Excuse me, Blaise. I have to have a very peculiar conversation with our own Savior, _Harry Potter.”_ Draco walks off, quicker, to the mess hall where the students gathered for breakfast, boiling so much he was rather sure he had steam coming out of his ears.

  
_‘I know’ my bloody arse. Bloody wanker._ Draco growls, the younger students getting out of the way of his murderous aura. It had been a while since Draco had walked around with such intent and the heat under his skin was _not_ helping. It added to the fire, to his anger; he just couldn’t _wait_ to hear Potter’s excuse, give him a reason to be set off.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry could say he felt it before he saw it. Draco’s glare and perpetual bloodthirsty aura. But maybe he was waiting for it, or maybe he saw the people at the table glance behind him and tense. And then he felt it. Draco’s hand gripped his shoulder, nails digging into his robes through the layers of fabric enough to hurt. Harry jolted, looking up over his shoulder.

 

“Potter.” Draco’s voice was positively  _ livid, _ despite his supposedly calm demeanor. His lips were set in a light scowl, eyes narrowed just barely, which was even scarier than showing obvious outrage. The calm before the hurricane. Harry was  _ not _ going to like what happens next and he tries not to show his anxiousness. 

 

“Malfoy.” Harry responds in kind, giving a nod, glancing between him and the rest of the table. His eye twitched in pain as Draco digs his nails further into his shoulder as if to say  _ don’t play with me. _

 

“Fancy a talk?” Draco’s meeting his eye with such intent Harry found it hard to suppress a shiver.  _ Man,  _ for coming up against Voldemort and winning, Draco makes a might scarier picture. And it wasn’t like as if he can say  _ no, thanks. Rather not. _

 

“Erm.. Sure, yeah.” Harry nods, stealing a glance to Hermione and Ron across the way. He purses his lips, standing. Draco’s hand drops away but not before giving him another rough squeeze. Harry rubs his shoulder, nearly tripping on the bench as he stepped out as Draco grabs his arms, much like he grabbed Draco a day prior, and starts to pull him, irregardless of whether or not Harry was ready or was willing to follow. 

 

Harry kind of hopes Ron and Hermione will follow, ya know, to help a brother out or something. Make sure Drao doesn’t outright murder him, which is looking more and more like a possibility as Draco’s fingers grip hard on his arm, nails digging in. Harry winces, wondering if Draco knew he did that or if that was just something he did, sadistic little thing. 

 

Draco doesn’t pull him this way and that like Harry did. Didn’t look for the most secluded place to have a conversation. He just dragged them down a very straight path, up the stairs and into the potions lab. Draco let him go as they got halfway in, coming to the professor’s table and clenching the edge of the table as if that was the only thing keeping his temper in check. 

 

Harry swallows, unsure of what to do. He’s at least 67.952% sure that Draco knows what he did, what other reason did he have to be so upset about? And to this degree, no less. Not that Harry regrets doing what he did to find out the truth… But he did feel bad about it. He just didn’t understand, though. Why Draco would go to such extremes to hide his secondary sex? He might not know a thing about omegas, or their history, or… Well, whatever, know absolutely anything, really. But he still didn’t think Draco should suffer the consequences and side effects of these things he takes. ‘Cause even though he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together (id est: Draco using suppressant products + Draco’s worsening eyesight = side effect of the drugs). Why would  _ anyone _ decide to go blind to cover up something like that?

 

Draco takes a deep breath. If he were a dragon, there’d have been smoke coming from his mouth. He didn’t smell anything besides a peculiar peevishness, though, since the bandages mask everything. Draco seemed to gather himself, squeezing at the table edge few times before taking another breath and he turns around, glaring. Definitely glaring this time. With only Harry here, it was pretty obvious he was glaring unable to see him or not. 

 

“Potter.” Draco says, voice so even it was daunting. “Please, explain to me how you managed to find out about my ‘condition.’” Harry purses his lips, eyes straying. Draco clicks his tongue. “Yes. I see. And what were you thinking, when you drank that polyjuice? That’d you’d find me creating new portals? Starting an uprising, perhaps?” Draco gave a hiss, uncaring of that sound since it were only him and Harry in the room. “What were you  _ thinking?!” _ Draco yells, hands balled into fists with the sheer force of vexation coursing through him. Harry flinched looking property chastised. 

 

“Sorry..” 

 

_ “Sorry _ doesn’t rebuild our trust you git!” Draco snarls. Harry grits his teeth, pursing his lips as he wants to argue. Draco was right anyway. But what can he do about it now? It wasn’t like Harry could take it back, but he sure as well wouldn’t tell the whole flapping word. 

 

“What are you hiding it for, anyway?” Harry asks, feeling his alpha rise up in a challenge. 

 

“That’s none of your  _ business,  _ Potter.” Draco’s voice was cold, unyielding, and it challenged his alpha more than he thought it had a right to.

 

“What’s the big bloody deal, anyway?” Harry blurts, narrowing his own eyes. 

 

_ “What’s the big bloody deal?”  _ Draco parrots and lets out a scoffing laugh. “The big bloody deal is that you don’t know  _ jack-shit _ about my situation!”

 

“That’s what I mean! What’s wrong with people knowing?” He asks again, though he’s wondering if that’s just his alpha talking— growling inside his mind about that smell he hadn’t had a whiff of for  _ weeks _ now. Whispering how it’d be much better if it was out in the open, free for him to catch. Draco growls in exasperation, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Who cares if you’re an omega? Even with purebloods or whatever, who cares?!”

 

Draco was so lost in his upset that he didn’t even notice that Ron and Hermione had snuck in, keeping to the back of the class; Ron ready to jump in at the slightest sign of trouble and Hermione keeping him back with a glaring look. 

 

Draco growls and grabs the nearest bottle on the table, chucking it in their direction. 

 

“Don’t you presume to know anything about me, Potter!” Draco yells over the sound of the beaker breaking on the floor, scattering glass. “Fucking  _ perfect _ alpha, the  _ Chosen One! _ ” Another clash of a beaker, filled with green gunk. He chucks it in their general direction, and it crashes and splurges everywhere. 

 

Amazingly enough, Draco’s aim was not something to be desired. Another bottle flew, scattering more glass.

 

“You’ve  _ never _ really had to work for a thing in your life did you?” Another bottle. “Oh, sure, your parents are dead but at least they  _ loved _ you! At least you’ve never had to live up to expectations to be anything  _ but to be perfect!”  _ The next one broke on the glass, terribly away from them that Harry started to worry. 

 

“At least you—“ Draco starts, and promptly cuts himself off. His hand is reached behind, barely touching the next flask, fingers twitching. His eyes shutter, trembling, and he lets out this quiet, terror-stricken  _ whimper _ that has Harry’s hair standing up with his alpha screaming at him to fix that broken little noise. 

 

Harry doesn’t even think Draco knew he let it out. Draco stands there, frozen, breathing picking up and Harry is  _ still _ sure Draco doesn’t even know the little noises he’s making under his breath.

 

“Malfoy…?” Harry chances a step forward, glass crunching under his feet. Draco flinches when he hears the crunch come closer with another hesitant step. 

 

“I—“ Draco gives another distressed mewl, Harry’s instincts on high alert, ready to fight whatever made him make that noise. “I— I can’t see.” Draco nearly whispers, backing up into the table behind him. “I can’t see—“ 


	6. Chapter 6

“Malfoy?” Draco flinches away from his voice as it comes forward. And as Harry comes near he sees his pupils glazed over with white. “Malfoy,” When Harry touched his arm Draco bloody  _ jumped,  _ crashing his lower back into the table and making everything else on it shake. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

 

Harry quickly got Draco to hold onto his arm, regardless of the stupefied looks of his friends. When those slim, ice cold, pale digits wrapped around his arm they  _ clung _ like no tomorrow, nails digging in frightfully, like his arm was the only lifeline in a vast,  empty sea. 

 

Once he had a lifeline, though, his haughtiness came back, despite the supposed absence of his sight. 

 

“And what are you going to do? Have me cling to your arm while you drag me around school?” Draco questions, scowl in place even though Harry could hear the tremor in his voice, the slight waver. This was just bravado. “Gonna parade me around like I’m your mate?” 

 

“Just leave him, Harry!” Ron calls out, the bloke. Hermione glares at him and hits him. 

 

“He’s  _ blind! _ We can’t just leave him!” She hisses quietly, though he’s sure Draco could hear too. 

 

“He’s probably just faking it.” He says, but Harry has already stopped listening and was barely even registering any noise after Draco said the word ‘mate.’

 

“We have to get you to Madame Pomfrey.” Harry says quietly, ignoring the other two squabbling. 

 

“I can handle myself, thanks.” Draco proclaims, but refuses to let go. Harry nearly groans in frustration. He takes his arm off Draco’s grip and he stumbles forward, into Harry’s chest and grips tight onto the front of his robes, giving another one of those heart-wrenching, unconscious whimpers. “What in the world do you think you’re doing, Potter?”

 

Harry keeps in a sigh while he rips a part of his robes with a little difficulty. He touches the fabric to Draco’s face and he flinches back, nearly sending them  _ both _ tumbling back.

 

“Careful now. Just a blindfold.”

 

“Blindfold? Really?” Draco asks incredulously, about to speak again before Harry cut him off.

 

“We can pretend we hurt your eyes.  _ This _ way you can cling without people freaking out.” Draco bites his lip and lets out that  _ infuriating _ (read: very,  _ very  _ worrying) whimper. Harry brings up the cloth and carefully ties it around his pretty eyes (shut up brain. Not the time), his face close enough to lean down the few inches for a chaste kiss ( _ shut up, _ stupid brain!).

 

“There. It’s finished now.” Draco makes a little noise, quieter this time. “It’s alright, I got you.” Draco scowls, no doubt glaring behind that bandana. 

 

“Quit treating me like a child!” He growls. Harry narrows his eyes though he can’t see.

 

“I will when you stop making those  _ annoying _ little mewls of yours.” Draco’s mouth opens on a retort and they shut with a distinct cling of teeth, appearing to grind them together. Harry holds in another sigh, also wanting to correct the distinction that no, they weren't really annoying. They just set his instincts into overdrive and he has  _ no idea why. _

 

Sure, they’ve had a couple lessons on omegas and such, but they were so rare, especially male omegas, that almost nothing is taught about them in class.

 

Even from under the bandages, this close, Harry could smell the milk and roasted honey emitting from him, along with a bitter undertone of fear. 

 

“Just—“ Harry moves his arms again, and Draco mewled  _ louder _ without the verbal affirmation. “I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” Draco didn’t hiss at the babying, latching onto Harry’s arm when his grip was relocated.

 

Draco held on, both arms wrapped with a vice grip on Harry’s arm, his body heavily leaning into his (for comfort, Harry guesses). Harry lets him, making his back stand up straight and maybe (definitely) puffing out his chest.

 

Harry kept his other arm around Draco from the front, holding onto his arm to lead. Ron and Hermione look on, conflicting emotions on their faces. 

 

* * *

 

“You’ll need to stop those whimpers, or people will  _ really _ start talking.” Harry mutters to Draco when he gave out those little distressed noises for the umpteenth time down the stairs. 

 

Draco growls, lifting his face. His nose and lips slide on Harry’s cheek, and he blushes only slightly when he realizes that was an accident, as Draco hissed in his ear.

 

“I can’t help it, Potter! I’m scared, alright?  _ Scared!”  _ Harry shivers at the warm breath on his ear, noticing how Draco’s nails dug painfully into his arm at his declaration. “I can’t see anything, I’m bloody  _ blind.  _ Can you give me  _ one _ good reason not to make these pathetic, genetic cries for help?” 

 

Draco goes back to his normal height, haven gotten on his toes to whisper. Harry purses his lips. And sure, it might not mean anything that Draco had confided in him that he was  _ scared  _ (because, who wouldn’t be at suddenly being blind?), but nevertheless he was still a confidant. Harry couldn’t help the words tumbling out of his mouth, alpha screaming at him.

 

“I won’t let anything harm you. I got you.” He tells Draco which way they’ll turn before they turn, how many steps so he doesn’t have that fearful last-step moment. 

 

There was a monumental change, he notes, ignoring all the whispering students they pass. Draco’s whimpers decrease by the minute, seeming to trust in Harry and he preens at that. 

 

When he enters the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey was not there. Ron and Hermione follow close behind as he leads Draco to the further most bed at the end of the room. 

 

“Setting you down now…” Harry turns Draco, maneuvering him by his hips to sit on the plush, but somehow uncomfortable, mattress. Draco gave another little noise, less distressed, but visibly relaxed once he felt the fabric. “There.” Harry says again, taking off the blindfold, Draco flinching at first contact before realizing what he was doing. 

 

Draco doesn’t express gratitude. He, calmly as he could, scoots more up on the bed and leans against the pillows and headboard. 

 

Harry stares— at his face, at his eyes. So grey-blue in color that the pupil blends in with how milky it’s gotten. Draco’s eyes flit about nervously, as if maybe if he tried hard enough, he’ll catch  _ something _ and see it. 

 

Ron clears his throat and when Harry looked back he caught Hermione elbowing Ron in the side. He leaves Draco’s side to go to them, confusion on his face.

 

“Are we just gonna stay here with ‘im then?” Ron asks, opposed to the idea. Hermione elbows him again, glaring (Harry thinks it’s because he seems so cold to the idea of helping someone who has been turned potentially harmless).

 

“Until otherwise.” Harry agrees with a nod. “You can go, though.” They whisper even though Draco could probably still hear them. He’s probably too anxious to pay attention though. 

 

“No, we’re staying too.” Hermione gives Ron a  _ look  _ and he groans.

 

_ “Fine.”  _ He agrees listlessly, just in time for Blaise Zabini to come running through the open doors of the infirmary. He panted harshly, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, a worried, frantic look in his eyes as he came to a siding halt. 

 

“Draco!” He calls, eyes landing first on the trio before they pinpoint Draco on the bed.

 

“Blaise?” Draco asks hesitantly, looking in the general direction of where he heard him. Blaise breathes a sigh of relief before he struts over there, but as he comes closer he sees Draco’s eyes don’t follow his movements. 

 

“Draco.” He says, from the other side of the bed. Draco jumps a little and turns his head. Harry saw Blaise’s eyes widen before taking on a piteous look. “Oh, Draco.” He says a little quietly, sitting down on the bed. Draco purses his lips and hunches his shoulders together. 

 

So Blaise  _ knew  _ blindness was a possibility. 

 

Harry feels some anger bubbling under his skin that Blaise let this happen. Before he could act on it, Madam Pomfrey comes in.

 

“Goodness! What happened?” She scampers over to them, worried. Everyone is quiet for a good long moment, Madam Pomfrey getting more worried it’s more serious by how Draco wasn’t his old drama-queen self. It was then her eyes widened, and with a quick flick of her wand the doors shut and locked. 

 

Harry didn’t know what he was missing. 

 

Draco sucks in a soft breath, and scoots to sit on the edge of his seat. 

 

“I can’t see.” He says it so simply, but Harry could hear the tremor in his voice. Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. She tuts, getting a little light to check his eyes. 

 

“What’ve you been using?” She asks, and Harry wonders how good she is at her job to know the blindness wasn’t natural. Draco is quiet, blind eyes down, grinding his teeth. Another moment and he sighs. 

 

“... Dragontail suppressants.” Madam Pomfrey gasps, her eyes widening in both shock and understanding all at once. Harry doesn’t even realize he was inching closer. 

 

“And Schmetterling Cream.” Blaise says, standing once more. Draco hunches his shoulders together more. 

 

Behind him Harry can hear Ron and Hermione parrot them,  _ “dragontail suppressants? Schmetterling Cream?” _

 

“Oh, Draco.” She sighs. “I didn’t know you were..” Pomfrey looks behind her at the other three. Draco realizes the lull. 

 

“They already know..” he says defeatedly. Madam Pomfrey sighs, loud and deep. 

 

“You’ve gotten yourself in a tight mess, you have.” She starts. “When did this start?” 

 

“... Eyes started giving at the beginning of the year. It was only far things at first, but then it just got really bad.” 

 

The beginning of the year was six months ago. Which means, Draco had gone from perfect vision to blind because of those, those—  _ suppressants and cream _ , in less than a year. Another pang of anger toward Blaise ran through him and he almost growled. 

 

Pomfrey tuts again.

 

“Draco..” she starts, voice gentle but Harry knows that the voice will not calm Draco in the least. It was the  _ time to give bad news  _ tone. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you. There could be some potions I can make to help the eye function again, but I don’t think they’ll help.” A pause as Madam Pomfrey gets things together. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but you need to stop both of them. What’ve you been using? Schmetterling Cream? How’ve you been hiding the smell?”

 

Draco looks around, unseeing. Blaise seemed to get it and steps around to pull the blinds around, shielding Draco from view. 

 

There’s shuffling, Madam Pomfrey making a noise of understanding before—

 

“I’m not a baby so just rip them off.” Draco says, voice seemingly back to normal. 

 

“Oh  _ please, _ ” Blaise responds in kinds. “You cry and moan about a  _ papercut.” _ In the next moment they hear a tearing— the large bandaids ripped off Draco’s neck and shoulders, and he whines. 

 

“Bloody—“  _ Schhhhkkk.  _ There goes the next one. Harry flinches.  _ “Hell!”  _ Draco practically yells as another sound of the last bandaids is ripped off. 

 

Draco is panting behind the curtain and Harry  _ desperately  _ wants to pull it back to see him. Then decides against it because one, Draco would more than likely be shirtless, and two, the sweet milk and roasted honey  _ permeated _ the room in seconds after the first band aid was ripped off. 

 

Harry is frozen, drowning in that syrupy thick scent. 

 

It filled up his lungs instantly, sitting heavy on his chest like he’s got two tons of cement laying on it. 

 

Harry doesn’t think he was even breathing after that first lungful, blood starting to roar to life, pounding in his ears and muffling the indignant  _ “bloody hell, what the hell is that?!”  _ Ron said. Harry could faintly imagine that Ron had covered his nose with both his shirt  _ and _ hand to stop whatever they were smelling. 

 

“Harry?” Hermione’s voice spoke out, and it’s clearer than Ron’s was. Harry could only form half a thought that Hermione stood closer than Ron had. “Harry!” He felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned, eyes narrowing. “You’re growling. Are you okay?” 

 

Harry shut his mouth, his jaw haven been dropped just a tad for that said growl. He swallowed, eyes focusing in on Hermione. He couldn’t  _ think _ with the cloying smell, much less with the little whimpers Draco was making again. 

 

Without much thought, he turned and stalked to the covered bed and pulled the curtain with a quick jerk of his wrist. 

 

Draco jumps, smearing whatever cream Madam Pomfrey was applying down his back, unclear eyes narrowed in his general direction. Blaise seemed less surprised, but more than a little peeved.

 

“Potter.” He greets, lip curled in distaste. “I can see you don’t know how to handle delicate situations, so let me help you out here. Get. Out. Of. Here.” He enunciated every word, like he was talking with a child. Harry furrowed his brow, eyes going from Draco to Blaise and back, then settling on Blaise once more.  

 

“I’m not leaving.” Harry proclaims unintelligibly. Blaise narrows his eyes and when he steps closer (closer to the bed, closer to  _ Draco) _ Harry lets out an unintentional growl, causing Draco to flinch and Blaise to freeze. His eyes are wide for a moment after, before his lips curl into a mocking smile.

 

“Why Potter, you never told me you  _ fancied _ Draco.” That makes Harry freeze, even as Blaise crosses his arms like he’s got a dirty secret. He did  _ not _ fancy Draco. 

 

Harry  _ didn’t.  _

 

But it wasn’t like he really had any explanation for his actions, either. 

 

“I’m just making sure he’s okay.” Harry settles on. Blaise raises a brow, but doesn’t step closer to Harry (and therefore Draco, who was still twitching at the cream Pomfrey was putting on his poor, inflamed scent glands). 

 

“Your presence is unneeded, Potter. Pomfrey and I will take excellent care of him.” Blaise said, rather flippantly if Harry could say so. Harry felt another growl, vibrating in his chest. Blaise’s eyes narrow.  _ “Potter.” _ He says like he’s talking to a petulant child. “You are an unmated  _ alpha. _ Plug your nose before you do something you regret.”

 

“You’re not plugging  _ your  _ nose.” Harry said, much like a petulant child. Blaise’s eye twitched, patience wearing thin. 

 

“I’m on very strong suppressants, unlike you and your friends, I’m assuming. Since you’re stinking up this whole space with your alpha-response smell.” 

 

Harry— hadn’t really thought of that, actually. Blaise was right, they weren’t on suppressants. Because of the lack of omegas, both male and female, the usages of suppressants have become pretty much nonexistent. Alphas still go through their ruts, but from the stories, they’re much calmer without the presence of an omega. Less animalistic, more just too horny for their own good for a couple days, conscious clear. 

 

But still—

 

“I’m staying.” Blaise sighs in frustration and rubs the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Potter just  _ leave!”  _ Harry's eyes snapped to Draco, who was awkwardly trying to button his shirt up, blindly. Blaise seemed to notice his challenge and reaches to help button them, causing Harry to growl at their proximity. Draco jumps, but smart as he was, put together what happened. “Merlin, Potter.” He sighs, frustratedly. “Mrs. Pomfrey, please, can you just shove some suppressants down his throat?” 

 

Madam Pomfrey looks between them, a little uncertain. She was a beta herself, and didn’t really want to get in between two alphas, barely adult though they may be.

 

“I don’t really have any on hand, but if you wait a bit I can get some in the next couple hours.” Blaise sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose again.

 

“That’s alright, Mrs. Pomfrey. I have some in my room.” He steps back and comes around, taking the route that lead him away from Draco, and Harry seemed to calm just a tad. Blaise walked, passing Potter as a lost cause, and to the door. It was still locked, but Madam Pomfrey opened it when he came near. 

 

Harry didn’t notice that Blaise grabbed Hermione's arm and the back of Ron’s robe to pull them out of the room, both of them arguing weakly. 

 

Madam Pomfrey locked the door once they were out, an awkward silence settling in the room as she went to her desk to start writing.

 

Draco kept his eyes forward, with a lack of anything to put them on. Harry notices the clenching and unclenching of the bed sheets under his hands. Harry needs to—

 

“What can I do? To help?” 

 

“You can start by getting the  _ hell _ out of here, Potter.” Draco snaps, though his tone left something to be desired in the intimidation department. 

 

“Other than that, I told you I’m not leaving.” He says rather stupidly, stepping up to the side of the bed. He was practically getting drunk off his scent, the way it muddled his mind.

 

“Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey starts, glancing up from her letter only once. “I would suggest you step away from Mr. Malfoy until Mr. Zabini comes back with the suppressants. It’s dangerous, for both of you.” 

 

Harry furrowed his brow. Dangerous? What does she mean,  _ dangerous? _ All he’d wanted to do was keep him safe and sheltered and protected— 

 

Unless  _ he himself  _ was dangerous. Because he might hurt Malfoy by accident, because he might be demanding— and that was not a thought he wanted to pass through his head.

 

Harry swallows audibly. 

 

Draco whines. His nails would have shredded the sheets had they been claws. 

 

“Malfoy?” Draco flinches at hearing him so close and his hand reaches out blindly, grabbing hold of a piece of his shirt just above his groin and Harry mentally slapped himself to not lose it. It wasn’t even a sexual context, and he didn’t think he could keep a stiffy with how his scent is twinged in fear.

 

“Fine…” Draco muttered. “There…  _ might _ be a way for you to help. But I swear, you touch me in any other way and I’ll hex your balls off and give them to a kneazle as play things.” He hisses. Harry swallows again and nods. Feeling stupid, he agrees verbally before Draco was pulling him down to the cot. 

 

It was a awkward, because Draco didn’t know how to shuffle his body around to give Harry room. Harry took it upon himself to slide in, fluffing the pillows to be nearer the headboard and leaned back, his arm nearest Draco raised in anticipation. 

 

After feeling up his chest (probably feeling where Draco could most comfortably fit) Draco slid under his arm and wiggles his way closer. Harry stays a bit stiff, the cloying scent, although light and sweet, was like a miasma in his lungs. 

 

Draco got himself comfortable, shoving one arm behind him and the other across his stomach lazily. He shoved one of his legs between Harry’s, curling around them as he laid his head on Harry’s chest. 

 

Great Merlin. Was Draco  _ cuddling? _

 

Before Harry could even voice out a breath Draco was growling out, “if you say  _ anything, _ Potter, I’ll cut your dick off and preserve it in formaldehyde as a trophy.” Which, despite him still being scared, Harry could see that’s the truth. “And relax you ignoramus, how am I supposed to calm down with you laying there like a bag of bricks?”

 

Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, letting his arm fall around Draco, settling on his prominent hip. 

 

Minutely, and in small increments, Draco’s scent seemed to calm. He was still anxious, as Harry could feel the twitch of his fingers clenching his shirt, but he wasn’t completely as freaked out was before. And strangely, being this close to Draco made himself calmer. 

 

It felt awkward to have no one speak, but he doubted it would have been any better if he tried to make small talk. So Harry stayed quiet, unconsciously rubbing up and down his side, feeling  _ a lot _ better than when he had ever cuddled with Ginny. It sounds mean, but even though she was soft and tiny, she wasn’t into cuddling, and her scent, now, just seems so  _ wrong. _

 

Pomfrey unlocks the door when Blaise knocks. He comes in, breathing heavily, as he’d probably ran there. The doors lock again as he comes closer, eyes locked on Draco and Harry. 

 

Carefully, Blaise comes closer, conscious of when Harry would freak out. Amazingly, it wasn’t until he reached the foot of the bed that Harry started to growl. Draco smacked his chest in retaliation. 

 

“Oh shut it, Potter. Just take the pills so we can get on with it.” Draco tries to sit up, despite wanting to fall asleep, and Harry's arm tightened and kept him closer. Draco’s cheeks flushed.  _ “Potter.”  _  He says warningly, and Harry purses his lips. “I don’t want a rut accident happening when I’m  _ literally _ in your arms so just take the damn pills!” Draco doesn’t try to get up again, his lips in a petulant pout. 

 

Blaise throws the bottle to Harry, who catches it with his free hand. “How many do I take?” Blaise seemed to think about it. 

 

“Take two.” Harry looks doubtful and Blaise rolls his eyes. “They’re not poisonous. You’ve already been inhaling his scent for practically an hour, you need something stronger now.” With that, Harry concedes. 

 

It took a while for the effect of Draco’s thick scent to die down. It was subtle, and the next thing he knew was that Draco’s scent was  _ pleasant _ instead of eliciting a primal urge to— he won’t even say it.

 

Slowly, he drops his arm from Draco’s waist as he sits up. Madam Pomfrey ushers out the two alphas to talk to Draco— alone. 

 

Harry nearly whines at that, but at least he wasn’t growling and trying to fight his way back in. And at least Blaise was kicked out too.

 

Outside, he spots Ron and Hermione, who try to get him to leave. After some goading, and Blaise literally telling him to go shove off, but thanks for helping Malfoy, he leaves with the other two.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid I’ll have to notify your parents of this..” Madam Pomfrey starts, voice laced with pity. 

 

Despite not having omegas in years, male omegas even longer, purebloods  _ still _ treated them in the same way. 

 

However… seeing as his father was in Azkaban, and could in no way orchestrate something like a wedding, Draco would be safe for the next ten years (assuming his mother is lenient enough to grant him his freedom despite not being tied). 

 

Draco sighed. “Alright..” he concedes. “Are you gonna tell her about…?”

 

“Your eyes? Yes. Draco, I know it’s hard, but dragontail suppressants are very dangerous. You’re lucky that you got out of it with only blindness. There have been known cases of death, infertility, organ failure, among others. And to use it  _ with _ the Schmetterling Cream, it might have exacerbated the effects..” Pomfrey sighed. “I can see if I can find anything more… gentle on your body?” She suggests.

 

Draco purses his lips. “Well… if I keep taking it, what could happen?”

 

“There could be a chance you lose your hearing, sense of touch, taste. It basically shuts down senses and organs one thing at a time.” Draco sighs, falling back on the pillows with a groan. 

 

_ Great. _ Just bloody great. 

 

“And my eyesight? It’s permanent?”

 

“I’ll see what I can do, dear. But as far as I know, with how long it’s been going on, yes. It’s permanent.” Draco whines at that, even though he knew he had no one to blame except himself. 

 

“Alright.” He says, swallowing another distressed sound. “Is Blaise still here?” Madam Pomfrey nods even though he couldn’t see, then goes to fetch Zabini, this time keeping the doors open for students with other injuries. 

 

With the bandages back in place, although no longer keeping his scent severely blocked, Blaise helps Draco up and Draco holds onto his arm, clutching tight as Blaise lead them back to the Slytherin dorms. Blaise wrinkles his nose.

 

“You smell disgustingly like Potter.” Draco pauses, lifting his robe to sniff at.

 

“Oh Merlin. I do.” Draco wants to wrinkle his nose, too, but the truth was.. it was a very nice scent. Sure, Blaise has a lovely scent and he’s an excellent cuddle buddy when he’s stressed, but Harry’s just.. smelled  _ right. _ Blaise caught onto the not-so-spiteful tone.

 

“Oh. You  _ do.” _ Draco’s cheeks flushed, glaring up at his general direction.

 

“Stop that. It’s completely unnecessary.” Blaise snickers, carefully leading down the stairs to the portrait. 

 

“Yes, it is. It is  _ completely  _ necessary.” When Draco only scowled Blaise rolled his eyes. “Oh come on now, isn’t it perfect? You’re obsessed with him, he’s obsessed with  _ you. _ Now I can finally stop being your cuddle buddy.” He teases. 

 

Draco looked positively offended.

 

“Trade  _ you _ for  _ Potter? _ Not on your life! He may have killed Voldemort but if he had to cuddle to do it, we’d all be dead. Cuddling him is like trying to cuddle a sack of potatoes.” Draco huffs, though he still feels a slight blush on his cheeks.

 

“No finesse?”

 

“None at all.” Draco says with a  _ hmph. _ Blaise scoffs, near playful.

 

_ “Gryffindors.  _ What use are they, then?” 

 

“Taking up space, obviously.” Draco says with his own scoff.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day when classes started, they realized it would be a little challenging, and a little more than annoyingly aggravating with the questioning looks. Blaise could ignore those, but he was sure Draco could  _ feel  _ them. 

 

Blaise only had half the day’s classes with him, and unluckily for him, they were not all consecutive.

 

The first class, Potions, Blaise dropped him off and got him into his chair. Blaise sighed agitatedly when Potter was not in class yet. 

 

“Of all the… can’t Gryffindors do  _ anything?” _ He mutters among himself and Draco, who snickers, lips curling in a smirk. “Potter! A word?” He asks, drumming his fingers on the the table before he lead Harry to just outside the door.

 

“Uhh… yes?” Blaise stares for a moment before rolling his eyes.

 

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed.” He began, grabbing his hand and dropping a little red pill in his hand. “Take that, and I expect you to watch him today. And you’ve got Charms and Spells together, don’t you?” Blaise doesn’t wait for an answer. “Good. Then take him there. I’ll pick him up after.” He turns to walk away.

 

“Hey, wait!” Blaise turns around, one eyebrow raised in a challenge. 

 

“Do you have a problem with that?” His posture made Harry want to growl. It was an alpha giving another alpha a command, so he felt affronted. But… the command was to watch over  _ Draco. _ This alpha was practically  _ giving _ him Draco. 

 

Well, not in that sense, but in a responsibility sense. 

 

“Uh— I— uhm, no..” he finishes lamely. Blaise nods, looking poised and proper as he pivots on his heel and heads to his own class.

 

Harry sighs, popping the pill and taking it dry. It slid uncomfortably down his throat, then he went to take his seat next to Draco. Draco jumps a little as the heavy tome fell on the desk, and his brows furrow. Harry has to wonder if Draco knew Blaise had him on babysitting duty. 

 

After another moment, Draco questioned, “.. Potter?” 

 

“Um, yeah. Zabini gave me the thing…” he said awkwardly. Draco huffs, as if even talking to him was a chore. 

 

“Good. I suppose it would be a good thing to not have you drool all over me during class.” Harry blushes, about to retort when Slughorn started the class.

 

“Ah. I’ve been made aware of your situation, Malfoy.” Draco nods, sitting back straight in his seat, but nothing out. No tomb, no quill, no ink. 

 

“Yes, sir. Potter here has valiantly volunteered to be my aid for this class.” Draco says without preamble and Slughorn nods, appeased. Harry chances a look back at Ron, who was confused as all hell and, probably, he will be hearing about it later. 

 

* * *

 

 

Being blind isn’t that bad, Draco concludes. Sure, it royally sucks. He’d rather have sight than not, and he definitely thought he would have handled this a lot differently (read: have a complete and utter meltdown). But knowledge and thought of an ending very much lessens the impact of when the thing happens. 

A lot of people have a misconception of blindness. Near-sighted, far-sighted, whatever. They think just because you take someone’s glasses off they’ll be utterly blind and have no idea what’s around them. In all honesty, he can say the quickest way to get smacked is to take a person’s glasses and ask them if they can see (as in: Blaise doing so his third month when he finally needed glasses to see things five feet away and Draco quickly putting him in his bloody place with a well-timed backhand. But don’t worry, he didn’t do it  _ too  _ hard). 

Draco had known the side effects of the suppressants he was making since the beginning. The remedies themselves were as old as the textbook he found them in and even if he actually outed himself as an omega to Madam Pomfrey or another doctor, he would’ve been hard pressed to find male omega-approved suppressants that didn’t have ridiculous side effects  _ and _ kept his secondary sex mum, what with the practical extinction of omegas and all. At least when the dragontail suppressants and schmetterling creams were created, omegas were a plenty and had been proven to work ages ago. 

It was hard to find the ingredients, mainly because of a toxin in one of the herb is no longer allowed to be handled by students and the other reason was that said herb grew on the fringes of the forbidden forest (that was one of the most daunting moments in Draco’s life. A death or death situation: either die trying to find herbs from the forbidden forest, or metaphorically die when he’s outed and given as a prize to some tosser alpha and Draco was too independent to  _ ever _ consider baring his neck to a chosen-for, unworthy mate). 

The others were pretty simple: acerbic acid extract from acerola cherries, acromantula venom (costs a fortune, though), asphodel, snake milk, things of the like. Each either easy to obtain, or expensive, but nothing Draco’s mounds of inheritance couldn’t handle. 

The only downside, it seemed, were the mounting side effects. It was like one of those muggle medication commercials:  _ this can cure your (insert condition here) but be careful, it can cause suicidal thoughts and tendencies, your organs will all fail, not to mentioned it won’t 100% help your condition and will even give you something else like (insert condition here) that then you will need more medication that will cause these other things to happen, until you’re on twenty different medications and none of your medical conditions are cured, only barely managed. _

Except not as drastic. It was kind of simple, really. 

_ Not intended to be used for continued therapy.  _ It said.  _ Be aware that continued use can vision loss, memory loss (short-term), sinus tachycardia, minor headaches.  _ There were a few others, and that was only for the dragontail suppressants. So when Draco choose to take them, he knew the risks.

The vision loss was still a shock, at first. It didn’t happen in a second. A week after the second dose, he couldn’t see very far things (like McGonagall at the front of the mess hall when he sat mid-way to the front). Then the next dose had him squinting at things not ten feet from him and during a Saturday when he took a ride to Hogsmeade, he got himself a prescription made for the glasses that he hid in his bag and only wore in his room. The fourth dose had him squinting at his textbooks, giant thick lettering or not. He had to be half a foot away to read. 

The misconception in blindness comes from the word  _ blind. _

_ Blind: adj., unable to see because of injury, disease, or a congenital condition. _

This  _ unable to see _ part is what confuses everyone. Draco would much rather rewrite the definition to  _ a loss in the sharpness and clarity of details of things in the visual field.  _ It sounds a lot better than  _ unable to see because of injury, disease, or a congenital condition,  _  doesn’t it? When Draco’s sight began to wane, it was more gradual. Things seemed fuzzy, like someone had taken a filter of near-opaque film and placed in front of objects in the background. It was just then the opaque film got closer and closer as the months wore on until his latest prescription glasses where nearly half an inch thick to obtain the same clarity and focus of someone with 20/20 vision. 

Blobs of color, blending more like a watercolor painting that had just been painted over with water, marring and blending the edges of the shapes. It was disconcerting, considering he had perfect vision before the potions, and how he, by choice, decided to go without the glasses to cover up for the fact his vision was going. It was even worse during the night time, where he had even less acuity because of the lack of light. More than once he had nearly crashed into a wall (read: had) and thanked Merlin it was nearly midnight and no one was out to see him fall from grace. Just imagine the rumors coming out of that one.

So when Draco says being blind isn’t that bad, he might be stretching the truth of the matter, but just look at what it got him. He’s being spoiled, practically, which his omega side preens at.  _ Spoiled, _ not  _ coddled. _ He and Blaise already spent an enormous amount of time going to and fro class, the only modification that has been made was that now Draco holds onto his arm. Blaise leads with an easy confidence of a gentleman (pureblood upbringing, of course). Blaise tells him when they reach stairs, corners, and it honestly calms Draco’s nerves. 

And then, of course, there’s Harry bloody Potter. 

Who  _ knew. _ And who was, for all intents and purposes, the best choice for both Draco and Blaise to trust with Draco’s life when Blaise isn’t there to tote him around. Ergo, though it was still discomforting being blind and having to rely on someone, having this small yet effective support system dampened the aftershock drastically. 

Draco waits until all the scrapes of chairs and the shuffles of students trickle out from the classroom, setting on his face the most haughty look he could muster, filling it with the regular pureblood arrogance and bravado before he stood. What they say about heightened senses when you lose one is true. That, or the bloody wankers in class are whispering louder than they think they are. 

However, he didn’t hear Harry stand and he looks to the left, where he knew he was sitting, narrowing his eyes as if he could squint enough to see, and then rolls his eyes.

“Hogwarts to Potter; are you done gawking?”

“How’d you know I was still here?” Draco barely manages to roll his eyes again. His fingers twitch as he felt a warm hand cover his. That was the only other thing that’s particularly stressful: being touched suddenly. Harry puts his hand on his arm, curling around the inside and Draco hangs onto him. 

“You smell.” Draco says, keeping the snickering contained behind a barely concealed smirk. Harry takes the bait.

“I do not!” Harry walks forward, causing Draco to lurch lightly before he steps in tune with him.

“I didn’t say it was a  _ bad _ thing.” Draco responds conversationally. It wasn’t like he was  _ lying. _ Harry’s scent was pleasant. It wasn’t smokey like Blaise’s. More… earthy. Like pine trees and forest and just… it reminds him of their vacation home they had near Olkhon Island in Siberia. It was a little on the smaller side; smaller than his other vacation homes. It was charmed, of course, but it had the most amazing view, in winter and summer alike. Lakefront on one side, a cluster of forest from behind. The air was clean,  _ clear.  _ But more… thicker. He can’t describe it, not really. Forget he said any—

Draco yelps in alarm as he was jerked forward. He clings harder to Harry’s arm, heart thudding against his chest. Before they both tumbled, Harry’s free arm steadied him.

_ “Bloody hell!” _ Draco hisses, squeezing Harry’s arm harshly in retribution. “Be careful!” Draco swings his free arm, hitting his Harry’s shoulder by the feel of things. 

“Sorry...“


	8. Chapter 8

Harry always knew that Draco was determined to make his life miserable, ever since he’d declined to be his friend. Draco was a difficult person to deal with in general, partly because of his natural personality, and partly because Harry couldn’t seem to figure out what the bloody hell is going on with his mind. Just blame it on being young with fluctuating hormones. 

 

It’s kind of like, what idiot asks an eighteen-year-old unregulated bag of testosterone what they want to do for the rest of their lives? Harry couldn’t even decide how he feels about  _ Draco  _ let alone what he wants to do the rest of his life after graduation.

 

It’s like, yeah, he kinda might’ve had a crush on Draco through grade-school (more-or-less masked by their rivalry) but was never really conscious about it. And maybe he liked Draco a bit more after the war; puberty had seen them both mellow out and it probably helped that Draco didn’t sell him out to Voldemort when he was given the chance. So now that he didn’t loath Draco to oblivion and back, combined with the fact he’d presented during the tail-end of the war,  _ added _ to the fact that Draco’s scent just smelled the right type of heavenly and his alpha nose picked up the ridiculously miniscule changes in Draco’s emotions and it causes him to act unlike himself, Harry was now very,  _ very, _ confused.

 

Because, you know, scents are  _ weird. _

 

There’s a distinct description to the scents that are exactly what they are but  _ not. _ And it wasn’t like Harry could smell someone from across a football field (unless they’re like, incredibly pumped full of hormones or close to a rut or heat, probably). It was more.. subtle, but not that subtle? You can probably smell someone’s scents from a few feet away in a normal setting. 

 

In the case of Draco, especially that first time, it was all-engulfing and Harry didn’t pay much attention in anatomy and physiology to be able to understand why. He was actually amazed that he didn’t smell it when he first entered the room, but he guessed he must have thought it was some kind of candle or something, because who the hell smells that sweet  _ naturally? _ But when he  _ did _ finally register the scent it sent too many signals through his body for him to make heads or tails of any number of them.

 

Harry didn’t understand why it drove him mad when Draco walked by without a whiff of that thick scent on him; didn’t know why his brain screamed  _ protect, protect, protect, _ at him like Draco was somehow unable to handle himself. Didn’t understand why he suddenly had this infatuation.

 

See? Screw hormones. 

 

All in all, the second class went by without much issue. Draco still paid attention, still answered questions, was still just the annoying little prick he’d come to understand. But Harry couldn’t deny that Draco’s scent made him more pliable to suggestion. Made him just a bit calm where he would have otherwise quipped back. His scent was dulled, no doubt wearing the adhesives and taking whatever Madam Pomfrey had given him that was less taxing on his body. 

 

The only difficult thing was the staring. Draco seemed to be taking it all in stride, chin raised haughtily and in confidence, as if he was too good to take notice of all the stares (not like he could, anyway). But Harry noticed the way his hands fiddled in his lap, pulled at his own fingers, the twitch in his eye when he heard someone drop something behind him.

 

Draco was handling it a lot better than Harry would have, that was for sure. Guess all that pureblood training amounted to something. Perfect posture, neat writing; he probably knew something as pretentious as calligraphy or something. Being calm under pressure and always with an immaculate air of that pureblood arrogance about him. Well, at least when he’s not being a drama queen. 

 

How does one cope with that? Losing something so vital. 

 

Coming to the end of class, he packs up his textbook into his backpack. Ron and Hermione were loitering outside by the door, giving him glances while they whisper amongst themselves. Harry holds in a long sigh. The next hour is going to be a long one, he was sure, at the mess hall. Standing, he sees Draco twitch, fingers drumming a neat little tune. The rest of the class has already piled out and Harry gives him another moment, waiting for him.

 

“.. Uhm, you coming?” Draco’s sightless eyes go to him. It was kinda interesting how, even without sight, the eyes will follow the sound. Draco’s fingers stop their drumming for a few scant moments before he stands. 

 

“Alright.” Draco pushing in the chair, turning around and holding out his hand. Despite doing it only for today and yesterday, it was almost like an instinct to put his arm into his hand to hold. 

 

Ron gave him an  _ are you kidding me?  _ look, Hermione smacking his shoulder even though Draco couldn’t see him do it. 

 

“Draco, hello.” Hermione greets, a smile as she takes it upon herself to be the polite one of the couple. “Are you joining us for lunch?” Draco looks to her direction and gives his own polite-ish smile.

 

“Blaise will come get me, actually.” Harry’s brow furrowed with that. Ron caught his eye and made another face, this time making it more absurd and Hermione hits him again, elbowing him discreetly in his stomach while he tried to muffle the hurt. “And I may be blind, Weaselby, but I still know when you’re being a prat.”

 

“What?” Ron asks, eyes wide in surprise, sharing looks between Hermione and Harry. “How?!”

 

“I have a sixth sense for idiocy.” Draco deadpans. Hermione pursing her lips in light amusement. 

 

“Oh, fuck you, Ferret.” 

 

“Not even in your dreams, Weasel.” Draco wrinkles his nose in disgust, turning a bit closer into Harry. Which, yeah, he’d rather not have the imagery in his head of—  _ blech, Ron and Draco in bed, _ but he likes the way Draco turns to him, conscious of it or not. 

 

So lost in their little bubble that he didn’t notice Blaise come up from behind. His arm slid in between the space between them and around Draco’s front, pulling him back so fluidly Draco barely made a sound of surprise as he fell back against Blaise’s chest. Blaise had the  _ most _ infuriating grin on his face as Harry felt tension rise in his veins— unbidden,  _ unwelcomed, _ at Draco being literally ripped from his hold. How long do those suppressant things Blaise gave him last? Harry could already feel a noise under his skin, like ugly scribbles squiggling, running through his veins. 

 

“Blaise!” Draco huffs, extracting himself from Blaise’s half hug. He plucks the hands and then drops them, holding them with a thumb and forefinger. “Do that again and you’ll get smacked.” Blaise rolls his eyes. 

 

“I’ll take my chances.” He finally looks up to the rest of them and gives a nod in acknowledgement. “You haven’t killed him. I’ll give you props, Potter.” Blaise grins, setting Draco on his arm and for some reason that just  _ bugged _ him. “Granger. Weasley.” Blaise turned and gave them each nods of his head in both a greeting and farewell before toting Draco off. 

 

In  _ completely _ the wrong direction. 

 

_ Where the hell are they going? _ Harry thinks, nearly moved to action to follow them before Ron steps into his vision.

 

“You okay there, mate?” Harry blinks, losing the duo around the corner, some quiet chatter flitting into nothingness. Once Draco was out of sight though, he was able to calm down… Just a little. 

 

“Yeah. I’m alright.” Harry takes a breath and Ron nods, setting his arm upon his shoulder and giving a squeeze.

 

“Good. Because you better bloody be telling us what the hell everything was.” 

 

* * *

 

Instead of going to the mess hall, Blaise had them go to Madam Pomfrey’s. He didn’t want too, but if he wanted to live through the suppressant withdrawal he was no doubt sure to go through, Madam Pomfrey would be his best bet to lessen the symptoms when they come about. 

 

The heavy infirmary doors close and magically lock behind them as Blaise leads him to the bed the furthest in. 

 

“How are you feeling today, Draco?” Madam Pomfrey asks, stepping up to him. Draco takes her voice getting closer as his cue to start unbuttoning his shirt. Unbuttoning is a lot easier than buttoning. 

 

“I’m feeling as alright as anyone could be, I suppose.” It could have been a lot worse, just like she had said. Sight  _ and _ hearing could have been lost, or worse. Draco lets his shirt slide to hang around his elbows after pulling off his tie. Gentle, chilled fingers pull at the adhesives on his neck and they peel off a lot easier than the ones Draco had used before. They also keep in a lot less scent. Draco twitches, gritting his teeth against the worst of it. 

 

Madam Pomfrey makes a noise of light approval. 

 

“Less inflamed; that’s good.” She takes to poking at the raised skin and Draco twitches again. 

 

“They do hurt less.” Madam Pomfrey gives another little hum. 

 

“That means the new creams are doing their job, then.” She sounds happy. Draco held in the breath of relief at that. Her footsteps echo as she steps back to her desk and then back to him. Draco flinches as the cool cream touches his glands. “Sorry love,” She giggles before working the cream into his shoulders and neck area. “It shouldn’t be too long before you can take these bandages off altogether.” She says peppily. Draco nods his acquiesce. 

 

“Will he stop pumping out hormones left and right?” Blaise asks curiously and Madam Pomfrey hums. 

 

“Yes. At least to a normal level.” Draco felt his cheeks burn, taking a steadying breath.

 

“Good. Maybe then Potter won’t try and kidnap you the next time he sees you.” There was teasing in Blaise’s voice and Draco glares in his general direction, though his cheeks were still pink. He wasn’t…  _ unaware _ of how Harry was acting around him. But he’d still rather feign ignorance until the last minute. It all did seem like too much to deal with. 

 

Going blind, the entire school finding out he’s an omega, and Harry suddenly acting all alpha-y on him? Yeah. That’s a lot to take in. At least the first two he knew how to deal with. Harry Potter’s sudden change is worrisome, to say the least. Or just— he doesn’t know. Weird? Unusual? Draco’s never really had people who were interested in  _ him;  _ his family, sure. His wealth, yes. But  _ him?  _ Gotta say, that’s new.

 

“Stop spouting nonsense, Blaise.” He says as haughtily as he could muster with his embarrassment rising. It was one thing for Blaise to tease him in the privacy of their room, it was another to do it in the company of an elder. 

 

Draco could practically  _ hear _ the smirk in Blaise’s voice when he says, “I’m just… thinking of the possibilities.” 

 

“I would take him up on the offer,” Madam Pomfrey said conversationally, stepping away from Draco to rummage through her desk. 

 

Draco’s jaw  _ dropped. _

 

“Madam Pomfrey… Are you  _ insinuating _ what I think you’re insinuating?” He asks, Blaise no doubt biting his lip to keep from laughing. 

 

_ “No, _ not at  _ all. _ I am just saying, it would be… mutually beneficial.” She hums; the sound of a drawer closing. “It obviously calms you down, and alpha pheromones would do you good. And it’s rather obvious Harry has taking a liking to you, whether he understands it or not.”

 

Blaise burst into laughter, Draco glaring into his general direction. He could feel his face heat up and he’s partially glad he’s blind because then he wouldn’t need to see the red creeping up on his skin as he simmers in embarrassment.

 

“I have no intention of trading my current cuddle partner.” He says, trying to keep his haughtiness about him and breathing through the flush to lessen it. “But maybe you should teach him a thing or two, Blaise.” He says, turning the tides. Blaise laughs again, somewhere to his right. 

 

“Now  _ that’s  _ a disturbing picture.” Blaise’s laughter trickles off into snickers as he gets himself under control. Draco makes a face, twitching as Madam Pomfrey gently sticks on new bandages, giggling along. “I wonder how disturbed he’ll be if I actually do?”

 

* * *

 

“Alright mate, spill.” Ron demands as he plops down by the courtyard. They’d decided to take their lunches outside, despite the chill of the air, in order to achieve some semblance of privacy. 

 

Harry sighs inwardly, he  _ really _ didn’t want to have this talk with Ron and Hermione, let alone  _ at all. _ But the bloody bloke wasn’t going to let it go, was he?

 

“I really don’t know what to tell you, Ron.” He starts, aiming for the truth. 

 

“Just start with what the bloody hell has been happening.” He says with his mouth full and Hermione smacks him in the shoulder for manners. Harry had no  _ clue _ what that even meant. He hadn’t even known what has been happening since he first found out Draco was an omega.

 

“It’s okay, Harry.” Hermione pipes in, patting her lips with a napkin. “You can take your time. I’ll be guessing you’re just as confused as us, aren’t you?” Harry nodded, thankful for Hermione’s gentle nature. But he really didn’t even know where to start. 

 

“Probably started when I found out.” He shrugs his shoulders, shuddering as that thought came unbidden to the front of his mind; Draco’s intoxicating scent. “It was just.. After that I couldn’t seem to let it go.” He shrugs again, toeing a pebble by his feet as he slurped at the juice box he’d managed to snatch. “It just drove me up the wall knowing he smelled like that naturally and he— I don’t even know. That he didn’t go around having that scent on him drove me nutters. I can’t explain it.” 

 

Harry drops his face in his hands and rubs at his face, groaning lightly. He  _ still _ didn’t understand. For once he wished he was good with this kind of stuff, whatever this stuff was. Hermione pat his back in sympathy. 

 

“What could he smell like other than a sugar factory?” Ron asks, clearly not understanding Harry’s delima. 

 

Harry raised his head, staring across the courtyard. Hogwarts was still under construction, but most of the evidence of the war had been mended. 

 

“It felt like home.” 

 

There was a stretch of silence where not even Ron’s chewing was heard. Harry looked from the place he was staring at to his friends, seeing the shocked looks on the both of them. Harry furrowed his brows.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione starts, looking either amazing or embarrassed or a combination of emotions Harry didn’t have the capacity to name right now. Whatever emotions she was displaying, Harry felt himself getting defensive, so sure he wasn’t going to like what she was going to say. “Now, now, don’t take this the wrong way, but… Have you ever conceived you might actually  _ like  _ Draco?”

 

“Of course not.” Harry replies nearly instantly, furrowing his brow. He means, he’s never given actual  _ active _ thought to it. Not before and certainly not now, with Draco’s scent sticking to his clothes, not enough and yet all too much, confusing him further. If he’d be all-consumed by his scent like that first fateful day, he would no doubt be lulled into a kind of contentment only those who were high could achieve. 

 

“Have you ever given a thought… That Draco could actually be a fated match?” She asked, a little more like she was walking on eggshells, but no less enthusiastic and excited about this prospect. 

 

“A fated what?” 

 

“A fated match.” Hermione explains, Ron uncharacteristically eating his lunch quietly. “Well, I could be wrong.. I mean, these things have been just legends since there are so few omega now. But the way you describe his scent.. Well, that’s indicative that he could be a fated match.” Harry stared at her, as if trying to say  _ speak dumber, woman. _ Hermione sighs. “Soulmates, for a lack of a better word.”

 

_ “Soulmates? _ Him and  _ Malfoy?” _ Ron pipes up again, sounding offended on Harry’s behalf, which, on any other day Harry would greatly appreciate. Except now his inner alpha croons at such an idea.  _ Yes. _ It rumbles.  _ Mine. _ As if Harry didn’t have enough on his plate. Hermione shoots Ron a look.

 

“All I’m saying is that it’s  _ possible.” _ She emphasizes. “I mean, can either of you explain why you would growl at  _ Zabini  _ for being close to Draco?” She raises a brow at them. “Or how you, Harry,  _ literally _ stalked Draco because he didn’t smell like his omega self and how it drove you mad? Do either of you have working theories other than ‘that’s not possible’?” At their silence and sheepishness she  _ hmphs  _ and nods like she’s won. And maybe she has. “Well, when either of you find one be sure to let me know.”

 

Harry rubs his face again, wondering if Hermione was onto something and if that could explain all the uneasiness in his chest. Or the constant thought of where Draco was at this moment in time, and if Blaise was with him (because he always seems to be) and if they’re anything more than good friends because even though them being an alpha and omega doesn’t mean they  _ would _ be doing stuff that cross friendship boundaries… but Draco smells enough like him that it causes him disease (which could be explained by Draco being on Blaise’s arm while being lead around, but still. He’d rather have Draco on  _ his _ arm than Blaise’s).

 

“Blimey.” Ron shook his head, looking about as affected as Harry about this news which he found funny. It wasn’t like it was  _ Ron _ who was supposed soulmates with Draco. Harry shudders to even think about it. 

 

“What am I gonna do about it?” Harry asks, sighing. Hermione shrugs.

 

“Don’t see what you  _ can _ do about it, other than accept it. With what you’re describing it sounds like all you can do is hang on and hope it ends well. You can always ask Blaise about it, too. Or one of the teachers, I’m sure they’ll have more insight on these things.”

 

“I can’t even pull away?” Hermione stares him straight in the eye.

 

“Do you honestly believe you’d be able to?” 

 

Harry’s first response would be  _ yes, _ just for the hell of it because he was always one who beat the odds, wasn’t he? But his mind stalled on that knee-jerk response and he thinks, not for the last time, that if he would even try to distance himself from Draco, he’d just— he doesn’t know.  _ Die _ seems too strong a word. If the choice were up to him he wouldn’t be apart for longer than a few hours at a time, his alpha insistent. And subconsciously, he knew, that if he were separated by a greater evil, he’d fight his way back, corny as that might sound. 

 

Maybe Hermione was right. And by maybe he means probably. She wasn’t the smartest on campus for no reason. She  _ knows _ things. So Harry meets her eye when he replies.

 

“No. I can’t.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ_

It was kinda funny how quickly someone can get used to something. How quickly the mind is able to adapt and change depending on the need. Draco adapted by making creams and potions to appear beta after he presented. He adapted quickly to routine after he went blind. Harry Potter being his escort had become second nature in a matter of a couple of days, and he adapted to that too. 

 

How could he have had vision for the past eighteen years of his life and blind the past two and yet it feels like he’s been blind for half his life? He supposed the only worse part about it is if an eyelash falls into his eyes he won't be able to get it out on his own. But seriously, it’s like, the eyelashes are the last line of defense into the eye so when they themselves fall into the eyes it’s almost like  _ how could you betray me like this?  _ But Draco digresses. 

 

Draco huffs out a breath, bushing back some bangs that have grown too long from his face despite that helping zilch to see. Around him the area was bright. The only thing he could really see; light. For the first time since this whole blind ordeal began, he was actually alone. Blaise had dropped him off at the office of one Professor Whitlock before scurrying off to his own lecture. 

 

Who this guy was Draco had not a clue; in all his years of being at Hogwarts he’d never even  _ heard _ of this bloke. But then again, it could be because this professor deals specifically with students with disabilities. Blind, like Draco, or deaf, or autistic, or whatever disability one could come across. And it wasn’t like they had special  _ classes, _ but he did help get students situated. Like earlier, he had given Draco some text books, patiently and with as less contact as possible, making Draco trace the bumps on a page while he sounded out the letter of the alphabet. 

 

_ Braille, _ it came to Draco. There must be more disabled students than he had ever given a thought to, for them to so readily have braille textbooks available. Or they were just prepared. 

 

The hour went by like that, Professor Whitlock being patient, even in the face of Draco’s growing annoyance. By the end, the teacher had excused himself as he’s had other students needing his attention and left Draco to his own devices.

 

Which was the stupidest thing, by far, that Draco had ever seen a professor do. And trust him, he’s seen  _ a lot _ of professors do some stupid-arse things.

 

Like, did he think Draco would somehow be alright by himself? Trying to get to his next class? Or even knowing what bloody  _ time _ it was? 

 

It was the first time he’d been left by himself and it was daunting, to say the least, to see only light and barely-there shadows. It was unnerving to be blind, period. So he scowls at nothing to pretend like he wasn’t slowly panicking to the idea of being left there— alone. 

 

Time again he’d given thought to enchanting an animal to give him sight. Perhaps a snake? But then again, a snake is also blind so how would that even help? In any case… Doesn’t Harry speak parseltongue? He’d rather not give the man any more ammunition against him… Not that he would use them, having that hero-complex about him. And although he loved cats he doesn’t think a  _ cat _ would be the best animal. 

 

There was the noise of a door opening and Draco sighs in relief, for who would come get him besides his best mate? Draco quickly shoved the textbooks into his bag. 

 

“Took you long enough,” Draco says, injecting his usual quip just because as he stands, the chair scraping against the floor as it scoots back. There was silence and he looked to the sound of where he heard the door open— surely, he had heard it open? Ignoring the pounding in his heart, he called out, “Blaise?” He scowled. “This isn’t funny.”

 

Silence still and his heart hammered even more wildly against his chest and he grit his teeth against the whimper he knew wanted out. Because if there  _ was _ someone with him, he sure as hell wasn’t going to give them reason to believe he was scared out of his wit’s ends.

 

Then he was yanked  _ backwards _ and Draco couldn’t keep that frightened yelp that escaped him as he stumbled; arms grabbed. He hissed, a tiny little gurgle of a growl building in his chest and he heard snickering—  _ those arseholes! _ Draco gives another growl, kicking out wildly against whoever held him, fuck if he cared where his foot ended up. He hears a grunt as his foot  _ does _ hit something and he grins to himself before he was further subdued. 

 

Hands— entirely wrong, in both scent and heat, felt up his sides to his chest and he felt as terrified as he was livid.  _ How dare _ this Neanderthal touch him? He could barely hear the laughter over the pounding in his ears and he reaches out to snap at the hands that held his shoulder, jaw ready to lock to inflict as much damage as possible, hearing the guy yelp before he was smacked in retribution. 

 

It was sufficient enough distraction for the bastards not to notice Draco slipping a hand into his robes, wand gripped so tightly he swore he would crush it. He grits his teeth— hair standing on end at the back of his neck as someone roughly yanks his hair to the side; disgusting hot breath on his neck. In the next breath he raised his wand and screamed,

 

_ “Ad caecum!” _

 

The result was instantaneous. A light, so bright that even  _ Draco _ could see the difference, shone through. He hears his assailants scream and the hands let him go, no doubt clutching at their eyes and ears in pain. Draco yanked his arm forward and elbowed whoever was to his left, hearing the crushing of the skull against the cement wall and under his elbow over the blood roaring through his ears. The person in front, he set a swift, unrestrained kick to the groin and listens with bitter glee at the noise of suffering.

 

_ “Ad caecum!” _

 

Draco yells again, just to make sure they’re down for the count. The spell was something he picked up one day, more liken to a flash bomb than a flashlight. More groans and he kicks the guy to his right before literally walking over whoever the fuck was under his feet, stumbling away. 

 

His chest was still rumbling with the growling and hissing, hiccuping once the edge of the professor’s desk hit him in the stomach and he stayed there, hair no doubt sticking up like a cat’s, clutching so tightly at the edge of the desk that he was growling to crush it— or throw it at whoever the fuck thought they could even  _ think _ of touching him. 

 

_ So disgusting, so wrong— _ nausea rolled through his body like a tsunami, only kept down by the self-preserving need to defend if his assailants decide to attack again. His fingers twitch against where he gripped hard at the table, the other around his wand, and he  _ swears _ he feels the charge of another flash bomb coming without him even needing to say it.

 

_ “My eyes!” _ One of them cries and Draco hisses, gurgling with a growl as his lip curls and his canines make their appearance; a threat. He grit his teeth, his growling only growing steadily louder and he opens his mouth to cast one more time—

 

_ “Draco!” _


	10. Chapter 10

_ Go get Draco.  _ Blaise told him.  _ He’s near the potions lab with Professor Whitlock.  _

 

Except when Harry neared, Ron and Hermione following along, he didn’t think he would come across a fight. The light shone so brightly from the open door that he had to look away, even when he was all the way down the hall. He could hear groaning and not long after another blinding flash of light he had to turn away from again. By then he was already running, skidding to a halt in front of the door.

 

He wasn’t prepared to see this; Draco by the Professor’s desk, muscles drawn to tight like he was ready to attack again. His clothes were rumpled, the top couple buttons popped open, revealing the beginnings of a bandage. Draco raised his wand again, milky eyes unseeing but wildly twitching back and forth, his mouth dropping to chant again—

 

_ “Draco!” _

 

Harry made haste to his side, barely sparing the guys underfoot a glance. Draco’s jaw clicked in how hard he closed it; Harry was worried he might crack his teeth open with how hard his jaw was set. 

 

“Draco,” He calls softer, when he was within touching distance. Draco flinches, looking to him and then back into the open space. He was still growling— still hissing, his hair standing on end like a cat’s. It would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the situation. Draco didn’t say anything, teeth still bared for a fight and Harry steps closer, until barely a few inches are left between them. 

 

Draco growls warningly, but Harry knew it wasn’t for him. Carefully, he wraps an arm around him, urging him forward. Draco jerks forward, falling into him stiltedly. The hand that grasped the edge of the table now clung to his robes. Instinctively, Harry guided Draco’s face to rest in along his shoulder near his neck. It was only then, when Draco calmed down minisculely, that Harry was finally able to get his attention on the assailants, still bemoaning being blinded. 

 

A growl worked its was up Harry’s throat; threatening, something so aggressive he had never heard come out of his mouth. He was so  _ furious _ that he couldn’t decide between letting go of Draco and killing the bastards (resulting in expulsion, no doubt), or letting them go because just as soon as Draco would calm down, he was  _ most definitely _ going to hurt them. 

 

“Oh my goodness!” Hermione gasps, the couple haven finally caught up. Her jaw dropped, hand to her mouth in surprise, Ron scowling at the guys on the floor. Despite what people may think, he  _ does _ have enough perception to link together what happened. 

 

_ “Incarcerous!”  _ Ron quickly chanted, pulling surprised yelps from the three writhing on the floor. Harry would have to thank him later. 

 

Right now he had something more important to think about. Now that the bastards couldn’t get away from his murderous intent even if they wanted to, he calmed down a minute amount, and glances down at Draco without pulling him from the spot near his neck. He had been briefly worried that his growling had scared him. 

 

“I’ll go get Headmistress McGonagall.” Hermione says quickly, scurrying off, leading Ron to watch the bastards  _ who should be dead, _ his alpha growls,  _ for touching  _ my _ omega.  _

 

Harry barely nods, the hand on the back of Draco’s neck rubbing gently, soothing out tensions one knot at a time, unwittingly spreading his scent on Draco. It works, though. Draco was still as taut as a pulled bow but the hand that held his wand was now clutching at Harry’s robes; leaning into him for comfort. He was still scowling, which he supposed could be a good thing. A scowling Draco was a Draco he was used to; meant he wasn’t as shaken up as someone would have been in his situation which just supported his thought at how strong Draco really was. 

 

Draco’s hands shook just slightly where they clutched his robes and it could’ve been from anger, fear, or a combination of both. After another moment they still to barely there twitches and Draco leans more into him, breathing in deep and dropping his forehead down on Harry’s shoulder, tension oozing out from him. 

 

Headmistress McGonagall basically  _ flew _ into the classroom, Hermione at her heels. She looks sternly at the three wallowing on the floor, scrunching their eyes and blinking rapidly until they were able to regain some visual acuity. Draco was quick to think of it; using a spell that blinds and incapacitates when it wouldn’t affect him. Hermione must have filled her in, because she doesn’t ask questions. With a flick of her wrist wand in hand, the three guys were pulled up to standing by their ear being invisibly pulled.

 

“Mr. Potter, can I trust you to take Mr. Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey?” Harry meets her eye and nods once. She nods back, waving her wand and briskly walking out, assailants pulled by the ear as they whine and complain as they were made to follow. 

 

Harry waits another moment, Ron joining Hermione to speak quietly to her, giving them room. 

 

“Let’s go, Draco.” Harry gives one more reassuring squeeze to his shoulders. He could feel Draco make a face against his shoulder.

 

“I don’t need to go to the infirmary.” He says stubbornly, voice steady, if not incensed; his scent bitter and burned at the edges. Draco keeps his face by his neck though, seeming to need the closeness. 

 

“Yes, you do.” Draco lifts his head from his shoulder and narrows his eyes in annoyance. 

 

“They didn’t even  _ do _ anything to me; I was felt up, not  _ bit.” _ Draco reasons, however little it did to assuage Harry’s apprehension.

 

“We’re going.” Harry stares Draco in the eyes, as if he could stare him down with his stubbornness. If he had to carry Draco to do it, he would. After a moment’s long pause Draco huffs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Fine, if it’ll stop your bellyaching.” Draco pushes his chest, not enough to make him stumble but enough for him to shuffle a step back, an obvious indication Draco wanted him to hurry it up and get it over with because he instinctively reached for Harry’s arm. Or tried to, missing by a wide enough margin that made Harry worry nonsensically (Draco was  _ blind _ there was a 100% chance he would miss by the entire margin). Harry automatically slots his arm into Draco’s grasping hands. “My books are somewhere.” He adds, waving his hand in a random direction to which Harry easily spots on the floor, scattered by where he was sitting. He makes a quick detour to pick up the books and place them back into the bag before leading Draco out.

 

“Are you alright, Draco?” Hermione asks as they follow along, worried but supportive. Draco gives a cursory glance to her at her voice.

 

“I’m  _ fine, _ thank you. Please stop treating me like I’m fragile.” There was an exasperation in his tone. “Just because I’m an  _ omega _ doesn’t mean I’ll turn into a victim by some arsehole who decided to take advantage of the fact I’m blind.” 

 

“Yup, Malfoy’s still with us alright.” Ron says, although the normal contempt and annoyance at such an attitude was rather dampened. Draco makes to look at Harry, giving him a pointed look. 

 

“You see?  _ This _ is why I didn’t want it known I’m an omega. They hear one word about your secondary sex and suddenly they think I’m an invalid. Those bleeding tossers were going to try their luck attacking me whether I was blind or not.” Draco gives a small a triumphant hum. “Besides, I would’ve brought Hogwarts down before I’d allow scum like that to touch me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Draco ain’t no damsel in distress, he a BAMF._


	11. Chapter 11

Draco  _ really _ needed to get that eye-seeing pet. Not even a full week had gone by with him blind and his secret exposed had someone tried to test their luck. It was either that,  _ stat, _ or constantly be in company with Blaise or Harry. 

 

On the other hand…

 

No, no, eye-seeing pet it is. Although being around either of them at any given point in time would drastically improve his mood with their natural alpha scents, he would still rather have some semblance of autonomy. Even if he could get used to having that crisp pine scent drifting about his neck, making him floaty in the best way possible. 

 

Harry directed him to the infirmary, giving little verbal cues to when he was going to turn or when the stairs were up that made Draco’s life a lot easier. Draco tried to move his rumpled shirt back into place, annoyed he couldn’t see how presentable he needed to be. For all he knows, he was just making himself look  _ worse.  _ Harry just as diligently lead him to his normal cot, Madam Pomfrey’s nowhere to be heard as Draco sat down, scooting back until he was up against the headboard. He could hear Harry shuffle by the side of the bed, as if waiting for Draco to do something— say something. 

 

All this pussyfooting around was getting old really fast.

 

“Pass me my bag,” Draco asks, more like commands as he extends his hand out to wherever Harry would have been standing. His arm sinks with the heaviness of the bag before he pulls it into his lap, rummaging around through three of the books, feeling the tops of them to find the one he was searching for. 

 

⠠⠃⠗⠁⠊⠇⠀⠋⠕⠗⠀⠃⠑⠛⠊⠝⠝⠑⠗⠎

 

Draco was certain this was the beginner’s book Whitlock was talking about. If not that he could actually read all of it, but that he remembers it started with the two dots stacked on top of each other, and was that dot at the bottom an  _ a _ or a coma? He was sure it said something like the title on the front for student who could see and he set it in his lap, letting his backpack fall to the floor by the bed. 

 

If he needed to wait for Madam Pomfrey he might as well fill his time doing something productive, now that he can. The only problem is now he doesn’t know the  _ whole  _ alphabet and just weighing the benefits of asking (read: demand in his usual fashion) Harry to assist. Tracing is finger over the raised edges again, he was about to open his mouth to speak when he heard, “oh my goodness!” Sound from his right. It seems like most of the time he comes to Madam Pomfrey now, she sounds surprised he had gotten himself into another right mess. 

 

“I’m fine.” He says automatically, setting the book to his left. “I’d like to get this over with.” 

 

Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps come closer and then a small shuffle of, “Mr. Potter.” Then he heard the curtains close and she cast a quick privacy charm for their little covered area. 

 

“What happened, Dear?” Draco suppresses the urge to sigh loudly. 

 

“I got attacked by some tossers after class.” Draco says. “I’m  _ fine. _ I wasn’t bit, I wasn’t raped.” 

 

“Still, must’ve been startling, even for you.” Her voice comes closer and cool hands prod at his neck, gently moving his head this way and back. Draco was quiet for a moment. 

 

“... Of course it was, but everyone keeps making a big deal about it. If they continue on it, I’m sure I’ll panic about it.” He says twitching occasionally at the feel of her hands as she checks the bandages and casts spell to fix the buttons on his shirt. 

 

“It would help to speak to someone, though, even if it’s not me or another teacher.” Draco actually sighs this time.

 

“No, it  _ won’t.” _ He urges. “I’ve always been like this, the more someone will put attention on something that  _ will _ make me freak out, the higher the probability that I will.” 

 

“But you’ve always been a bit dramatic.” Her voice sounds amused next to him and he would agree to that. 

 

“Yes, but none of those were actually  _ important.” _ He stresses, which, in retrospect, sounded like a pretty bad way to cope; pushing everything to the back of your mind and forgetting about it. But what’s wrong with that? Constantly worrying about something wasn’t his style, and neither is beating an issue to death because other people decided he needed to. 

 

It was like the time when Voldemort lived in the manor with him and— he doesn’t know, it was just his  _ presence _ that caused him to go insane and have a momentary freak-out. His mother, bless her soul, had tried to comfort him the way any normal person would want to be comforted; tried to get him to talk about it and he  _ freaked. _ He just— he doesn’t like being  _ touched _ during those times, when he has complete sensory overload. There was too many thoughts, too many emotions, too many sounds, too many colors and light to be able to handle someone’s touch. 

 

Draco doesn’t have these often, thank Merlin, but when he does he prefers to have a meltdown in peace. 

 

Madam Pomfrey sighs by his side. “Oh, alright.” She agrees, though seeming just a tad bit reluctant and Draco mentally sighs in relief. Now if he could just get the others to drop it. It shouldn’t be too hard, what with how easy it is to rile Ron up. 

 

“Thank you.” Draco says, patting the front of his shirt and happy that it was immaculate once more. 

 

“Anything else you need before I drop this privacy spell?” Draco thinks for a moment, ready to say something before he heard a commotion from behind the curtain. “What in blazes?” She mutters, opening the curtain with a swish and now the voices came a lot easier to hear— Harry and Blaise,  _ arguing, _ of all things. Draco furrows his brow.  _ Great, _ he thinks. There’s been one thing the two argue about recently and that typically includes him. 

 

Draco slips off the bed, feeling his way to the foot of the bed and to the second bed before walking straight, hopefully to the correct place. Following sound was more of an art than an exact science, especially when first blind. He probably looked like a right idiot, arms outstretched and palms out just to make sure he didn’t crash into something and hurt his fingers in the process. This took a lot more mental energy and focus than it would look, so he didn’t really catch the entire drift of the conversation that started to raise in volume and something along the lines of putting Draco in a situation where he was alone, which was kind of preposterous. 

 

When the sound was close enough, Draco reached out a hand to his left and it collided with a face, the owner of said face let out a sound of surprise, their sentence cut short. Close by, he hears a snicker that sounded suspiciously like Blaise’s so he reached out his right hand, managing to smack his face as well (lightly, of course. He wasn’t trying to  _ actually _ hit them). 

 

“So glad my predicament is bringing you amusement, Blaise.” He says drolly, glancing back to his hand when warm fingers wrapped around his wrist and took his hand off the face, the feel of metal frames under his fingertips gone. Though his hand is put down, it was not released. Since he stopped taking the suppressants and cream, he’d been able to pick up on scents a lot easier, if not a little overwhelming at times, especially at the mess hall. And the scent now, rolling off Harry in waves, was something he was quickly becoming used to, except now it was deeper, richer, dancing the lines of aggression and protectiveness which, by the way, is the weirdest description he had ever thought of because scents don’t have  _ feelings  _ that could be attached to them, and yet that’s how it is. “But I would appreciate if you didn’t cause such a commotion, some students are trying to rest here.” 

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asks and Draco couldn’t help notice his wrist was still held in his grasp. Not tightly or anything, but just a steady pressure, sending warmth through his arm. 

 

“Yes, I’m fine.” Draco raised his left hand to do a swishing movement as if batting away more worry. “But I’ll feel a lot better when I get into bed and get some bloody sleep. So if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking my leave— oh,  _ bullocks.” _

 

“What?” Blaise sounds alarmed. Draco groans in frustration and motions behind him to his cot. Or he hopes he does.

 

“I left my bloody books over there.” He can’t be too sure of his trek back, sense of direction skewed as it was. He was sure to crash into multiple cots, if not also the wall somehow. 

 

“I’ll go get them, love.” There was something teasing in Blaise’s voice, something mischievous and when the hell did Blaise  _ ever _ call him  _ love _ as a term of endearment? The hand on his wrist tightens the smallest of amounts for the briefest moments, making Draco think he had imagined it, before he realizes that it’s Blaise ruffling Harry’s feathers and he breathes, hoping to Merlin his cheeks didn’t flush as Blaise’s footsteps made their way away from them. 

 

Draco turns to Harry, finding this his chance. “Thank you.” He says a bit stiffly. He wasn’t one to say  _ thank you _ often, at least outside of his very small circle of friends and family. 

 

“Oh— uhm, for what?” Harry sounded genuinely confused and maybe he doesn’t remember what had just happened, or maybe he doesn’t think what he did was worth  _ thanking  _ him for. Whatever the reason for it, Draco doesn’t want to be frank and say  _ for saving me, _ because it wasn’t that he was  _ saved, _ per se, but that he was helped. 

 

“For the assistance.” He says vaguely. “Are Granger and the Weasel here, too?” He asks, just in case. Just because he hasn’t heard them, doesn’t mean they’re not there and they  _ were  _ rather instrumental in his escape. 

 

“Yes, Ferret, we’re here too,” Came Ron’s slightly annoyed tone and he looks to his voice. 

 

“You have my thanks, as well.” 

 

“You’re quite welcome, Draco.” Hermione responds and Draco nods, relaxing just a moment he didn’t hear them asking if he was okay. 

 

Blaise came back not too long later, no doubt grinning, no doubt too cheerful as he says, “Ready to go, hon’?” Draco doesn’t really mind the pet names, especially if they’re done out of second nature like how his mother calls him  _ love, _ and  _ dear,  _ and the occasional  _ Little Dragon,  _ but he could hear from the tone in Blaise’s voice that that was definitely not the reason for his pet names. Poking at Harry was something he used to do all the time, and it doesn’t make sense that he  _ doesn’t _ want to do it now. Draco will just chalk it up to the fact that there’s nothing to tease, except Draco himself for his childhood crush. But he doesn’t want to seem too obvious that he’s trying to deflect so he doesn’t shut him down.

 

“If you’ve got my books, then yes.” He responds, already raising his hand for his arm to be placed in it. When he feels Blaise set his arm in his hand, he felt the hand on his wrist squeeze just slightly.

 

“Can I—“ Harry starts and abruptly stop. 

 

“Can you, what?” Draco raised a brow, feeling oddly disappointed to feel the heat from his hand leave his wrist as Harry drops it. 

 

“It’s nothing, never mind.” It sure didn’t  _ sound _ like nothing, Draco thinks, but he wasn’t going to push it. He wasn’t lying when he hinted he felt exhausted by the day’s events and just wanted some sleep. And cuddles. Cuddles and sleep sounded like a  _ phenomenal  _ plan. 

 

Almost hesitant, Draco replied, “Alright.” Before stepping closer to Blaise, signaling to start leading. Once he was sure they were far enough away, he spoke again, “Now can you please tell me what in the bloody hell that was?”

 

“What?” He was sure Blaise was smirking. He knew enough by the tones of his voice to hear what emotion he was displaying.

 

_ “‘Love’? ‘Hon’? _ Care to explain them?” Blaise snickers, leading them through the winding hallways back to the Slytherin dorms. 

 

“Sorry, it’s just too much fun watching Potter get his feathers ruffled.”

 

“Well, could you kindly stop?”

 

“Why?”

 

Why indeed. It wasn’t that he  _ wasn’t _ a fan of ruffling Harry’s feathers, but that a result of those feathers being ruffled would be the way he acts toward Draco; near possessive, dotting, and mate-like and it confuses Draco, and he does  _ not _ need any more confusion in his life, thank you very much. He already has enough of that on his plate what with the being newly blind, getting his hormones back into balance, and trying to find a way to balance between him and omega him. 

 

_ “Because.” _ Draco stresses, squeezing his arm in warning and Blaise sighed like it would bloody hurt him to do it. 

 

“Oh, alright. I won’t antagonize him.” Draco nods, letting that subject taper off. 

 

“Did they punish the prats who attacked me?”

 

“Oh yes, I hear they’re going to be expelled. Like, no-chance-of-ever-coming-back kind of expelled.”

 

“Good. That’s too lenient, if you ask me.” Blaise chuckles.

 

“Would you rather have seen them lose their balls?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Ouch,” Blaise says, but he doesn’t sound sorry for them. “Medieval punishment, don’t you think?”

 

“Medieval punishment for a medieval crime,” Draco says in response, relaxing when they came to his room. His room was a lot easier to maneuver around than the entirety of Hogwarts, so he let go of Blaise’s arm and walked in, knowing full well there was a chair to his left by the desk and he takes hold of the back. Draco pulls off his tie, folding it neatly and setting it on the table. Next go his robes, which he hung over the back of the chair. He hears the thump of the bag hitting the chair and surmised Blaise set his bag there before shuffling off to somewhere else in the room. 

 

Methodically, Draco changes into a shirt and shorts before finding his bed, all but falling into it before sitting up and rearranging the blankets and pillows. It all smelled too much like him. Well, like him and Blaise, and while Blaise’s scent  _ did  _ calm him down and was nice, it wasn’t the one that stilled his mind; it made him restless now. The scent that was spread on the back of his neck was now starting to fade and he didn’t want it to. 

 

The bed depresses after he stops moving everything around, Blaise taking his normal place and Draco easily slips into his side; legs tangled and arm flung over Blaise’s midline, head resting on his chest. Blaise’s hand moves to his neck— an innocuous move, no ulterior motive other than that is just what he always does. Normally Draco wouldn’t have a problem, it typically helped him calm down and relax more. 

 

This time, however, Draco jerked away and back into a sitting position, startling the both of them. Draco had a hand protectively over the back of his neck, heart hammering in his chest. 

 

“Draco? What—“ Blaise stops himself and Draco  _ flushes _ at the tone of his voice when he say,  _ “Ohhh, _ I see.” 

 

“Shut it, Zabini.” 

 

“I didn’t say anything.” He seems to relax back and Draco carefully encroaches back to reclaim territory. 

 

“You didn’t have to, I could hear it in the tone of your voice.” He says petulantly, pouting as he lays his head back down on Blaise’s chest. “Just— just don’t touch my neck, alright?” He feels Blaise hum in his chest. 

 

“Alright.” True to his word, his hand comes back to rest on his upper back, enough away from his neck that Draco relaxed. But even though Draco said not to say anything, he still feels as though the air is charged with the tension of a question and he just felt the need to elaborate. 

 

“There’s nothing to it.” He starts to say, almost trying to convince himself. “He’s with that She-Weasel, anyway.” Blaise hums again. He’s glad Blaise wasn’t trying to argue or provide justifications. Draco needed to have a sense of normalcy, where his hormones weren’t acting up and where Harry wasn't lavishing attention on him, wasn’t protective over him; just needed some pretense of it for the moment. 

 

This was good. This was fine.  _ But it could be a whole lot better, _ his omega whispered and he swore he had it beaten down with a stick and how did it get out? Because he was  _ not,  _ repeat,  _ not, _ going to get his hopes up for something that could just as easily be Harry responding to his omega wiles.

 

Blaise’s hand drifted to the knob at the bottom of his neck out of habit and he stiffened. Blaise noticing before bringing his hand back down. This was good, this was fine.

 

_ Keep telling yourself that. _

 

Draco scowled at nothing in particular, shutting his eyes and willing himself to sleep because screw instinct.


	12. Chapter 12

How hard is it to open your mouth and ask,  _ can I walk you? _ Almost impossible, as it turns out. For goodness sake, he was more nervous asking that than he was asking  _ Ginny _ out. 

 

Which he just remembered, they hadn’t actually,  _ officially _ broken up yet. He wonders why it didn’t even enter his mind these few days while he had  _ Draco-scent _ on the brain. They weren’t fighting; it was more or less their chemistry had somehow gotten wired wrong. It was okay when they started to date, before they presented. After it was a bit more… Challenging. They still fit together nicely, but the romance and the sexual side of their relationship (something that he’d  _ never _ talk to Ron about) didn’t quite hold the same candle as it did when they first started to date. It was like with Harry newly presented alpha that their chemistry stopped blending so nicely together. 

 

It was neither of their faults, they concluded. The Weasley family was predominantly beta, with the exception of the twins who somehow both presented alpha. And maybe that was it, that the best coupling happened between beta and beta, or alpha and omega? And that was why Ginny just didn’t smell as enticing as a certain blond, and with her no longer being a distraction for him, that was why he went and followed Draco around? Because of some baser instinct? 

 

Whatever it was, it was rather clear to him that it would be best to end it, for both their sakes. They had taken a break indefinitely, and he was rather sure it was with the intention of breaking up (but he could be blind-sided; it might’ve been with the intention of getting back together after this break, and Draco just subsequently threw a wrench in their plans for a reunion, knowingly or not). 

 

But Harry was  _ not  _ looking forward to that talk. He wonders if she knows. 

 

One has to wonder, though, if those are the best pairs, what happened that so many omega just.. stopped being born? 

 

Anyway.

 

Harry groans, rubbing his face in frustration. His mind was going crazy, the robs on his chair nearby cling to a tantalizing scent that he wonders if it would drive him more wild if he  _ couldn’t _ smell it; wash it so it couldn’t tease him. 

 

_ God. _ Do those suppressant things of Blaise’s even work? Or maybe they were just now starting to dwindle, with the day coming to a close. Or maybe with Draco’s scent being free to be itself was having more of an effect on him the more his body worked the suppressants out of himself. And he has to wonder, because it can’t be that  _ all _ omegas smell this strongly. He’s met a few (Fleur Delacour, Parvati Patil), and none of them hold a candle to how strong Draco’s scent was. 

 

But maybe this is what Hermione was talking about, with the whole fated-match thing. That could be a reason Draco’s scent was so strong. 

 

“You alright there, mate?” Ron asks as he comes in, freshly showered, toweling off his hair. 

 

“... Hanging in there.” Harry replied after a moment's pause, taking a breath to steady himself.

 

“Still can’t make heads or tails of the situation, can you?” Harry shook his head. Although he was glad for Ron’s half-support. This would be a lot harder if Ron wasn’t in his corner. 

 

“No. Can you?” Harry asks, rubbing his face again. He hears Ron sigh and then a bed squeak as he sits. 

 

“I’m probably the wrong person to ask. No alpha nose and all that.” Ron says sympathetically. There was an awkward moment when they were quiet and Harry wonders a moment if Ron would kill him for breaking it off with his sister to trail after the arch-nemesis of his childhood. Ron sighs deeply and gets up to go to Harry’s bed, placing an arm on his shoulder. “I might have no clue what’s going on, mate, but I’m right behind you, okay?” 

 

Harry peeks out from under his arm and smiles weakly back. 

 

“Thanks..”

 

“So,” Ron says conversationally, sitting by Harry’s feet and leaning back on the bed frame. “Got a plan for him to fall madly in love with you?” Ron’s voice was slightly teasing and he feels his cheeks heat for the briefest of moments. 

 

“Ugh, no.” He groans. “I’m sure I’ll look like an idiot without the plan, though.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Omg! Thanks so much for all the comments and kudos! <3 Love you guys! I’m glad you’re enjoying this._  
>  _Draco and Harry are dorks in love, and yes, everyone is confused. What normal high schooler_ isn’t _confused? Add some weird ABO type shizz and you’ve got yourself a conundrum of feelings._
> 
> _And yes, Draco is in denial._

The following couple of weeks were spent in self-imposed agony, each time not having enough courage to ask Draco if  _ he _ could walk him places even when Blaise was available. 

 

Each morning Blaise would take him aside before the beginning of each class and gives him a red pill. Harry takes it, if only to keep his head level around Draco and keep from growling at whoever got too close to him by accident, alpha or no. And every time Blaise came around to take Draco back to their dorms Harry’s voice dies on his tongue. 

 

They had a good, decent, and fragile relationship now. Not quite a friendship, certainly far from a romantic relationship, but it was fragile and tender all the same and Harry didn’t wanna do anything to muck it up, which was why he had trouble asking such a simple thing. 

 

Today, though, Ron said if he didn’t grow the balls to ask him to lunch, at the least, he’d do it for him and embarrass himself, Harry, and Draco, practically everyone, in the process. 

 

_ God, it hurts to see you be a wimp, mate,  _ Ron had told him good-naturedly. 

 

So he lead Draco out of the classroom on his arm, glancing toward Ron who gave him a  _ look _ and opened his mouth.

 

“Say, Draco,” Harry says first, giving a mental sigh of relief that Ron didn’t get to it first. “Want to eat with us today?” Draco blinks, looking up at Harry in surprise. Of course, why wouldn’t he? The only one here who asks Draco if he’d be joining is Hermione. For a moment he seemed thrown off balance.

 

“Oh—“ He says softly, like he was unsure. His typical answer came as,  _ Blaise will be picking me up. _ The two typically head off to god knows where during lunch and show up at the tail-end of it. “I don’t—“

 

“I can take you to where you need to go first.” Harry cut in when Draco’s normally impeccable speech stutters. Draco seemed to argue with himself for a moment, lips pursed as if weighing the consequences of saying yes. Like he wanted to agree at first, but had to stop and pause as to not seem too eager (though more than likely, that was Harry’s brain telling him these things). 

 

“Oh, alright..” Draco says after a brief pause. “I’ll just inform Blaise when he comes.”

 

“Inform Blaise of what?” Blaise asks, coming up a few feet behind Draco, silent as the grave. Draco  _ jumps _ like a frightened cat, Harry steadies his stumble, keeping him up. Draco rights himself and glares at Blaise. 

 

“Are you  _ trying _ to give me a bloody heart attack?” Draco lightly hisses before composing himself. “In any case, to inform you your eyes will not be needed this hour. Our Great Savior here has valiantly volunteered to help me.” Draco leans into him, though Harry couldn’t be sure if he did it on purpose or not. He still didn’t quite know what kind of relationship he and Blaise have. 

 

“Oh? Has he?” Blaise asks, giving a private little smile, polite and restrained. “Thank Merlin, I was beginning to think I’d have to be your crutch forever.” Draco narrows his eyes in warning. 

 

“Watch your tongue, Blaise. I may be blind, but I can still cut it off in your sleep.”

 

“Tetchy.” Blaise says, though their tones where light and didn’t hold much weight in that threat. Draco seemed ready to stick his tongue out.

 

“Let’s go.” Draco tells Harry, nudging him in a random direction and Harry leads.

 

“Where  _ am _ I taking us?” Harry asks as he leads away, hearing Hermione ask,  _ “Will you join us, Blaise?” _ She elaborates,  _ “for lunch?”  _ Well, glad to see Hermione taking an interest in creating friends with the possible love-interest’s friends. 

 

“To see Madam Pomfrey, of course.” Draco says simply, like Harry would have just  _ known _ that was what was happening. “You  _ seriously _ didn’t know that was where I was going daily?”

 

“I, uhm.. No, I didn’t.” Harry stutters lightly, veering a course to the infirmary. 

 

“Oh?” Came Draco’s surprised voice. “And here I thought you’d have followed me, what with how  _ sneaky _ I’ve been.” He teases, but Harry could hear the slight jab in there for what it is and he sheepishly rubs the back of his head with his free hand.

 

“Look, I’m really sorry about.. All that.” He finishes lamely. “I didn’t know what came over me, I knew you weren’t up to anything bad.. Presenting has got my whole world turned upside down.”

 

Draco grumbles something along the lines of,  _ don’t I know it… _ But he couldn’t be too sure. The rest of the walk had been rather uneventful. Draco didn’t even whine and whimper anymore, and Harry felt like he could preen at the fact Draco trusts him to lead him around. 

 

Madam Pomfrey had been expecting them, as she didn’t even look surprised at Draco coming in. She was, however, surprised to see Harry.

 

“Oh. No Blaise today?” She asks conversationally as Harry lead Draco to the cot. 

 

“I volunteered.” Harry says, staying by the side of the bed as Draco settles in. 

 

“And you’ll be okay?” She asks hesitantly, glancing from Draco to Harry and Harry almost asked  _ with what? _ Before it came to him that whatever Draco was here for, it was for that reason. 

 

_ “Oh.. _ uhm, I think so? I took the suppressants Blaise gave me in the morning.” Madam Pomfrey looked hesitant at first. 

 

“It’s fine.” Draco says, catching her attention as he slipped off the green tie and started to unbutton his shirt. Harry had to avert his eyes, try to pretend he wasn’t the least bit interested. Draco let the shirt slide off his shoulders to rest by his elbows and Madam Pomfrey carefully peeled back the adhesive on his neck. 

 

Automatically, it was like his senses were heightened. 

 

Draco’s scent permeated the room. It wasn’t as harsh and all-consuming as it was the first day Harry brought him to the infirmary, but it was just as overwhelming. Because of it, he felt slightly woozy. 

 

“It looks mighty better.” Madam Pomfrey says happily, her voice sounding like it was underwater and Harry blinks himself back into existence, centering himself. 

 

“Feels a lot better.” Draco says with a nod, though it seems he was a bit self-conscious, with Harry in the room. Madam Pomfrey kept stealing glances to him, as if checking if he was truly okay. He nods once he gets a hold of the floaty feeling, grounding his feet to the floor, which was a lot easier to do after she rubbed some cream onto his glands. 

 

“Shouldn’t be long now till you can take these off completely.” And  _ wow, _ wouldn’t that be the day? The day Harry would officially die, that is. He’d be so distracted by the scent he wouldn’t even notice a stampede of hippogriphs coming his way. 

 

“Good. Harry? Assistance?” Harry blinks, stepping closer to help to button his shirt back up, more than a little distracted by the alabaster skin. He manages to get all the buttons, though. He takes the tie, setting it around his neck and Draco takes it into his hands. “I can do the tie myself.” He says, taking control of both ends before he started to tie it expertly. “I’ve been tying ties almost as long as I’ve been tying my own shoes.” Draco pats the tie and then down his shirt, happy with how presentable he was. “Good. Let’s go, I’m starving.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Was it weird of him to say yes, for Harry to come with him to Madam Pomfrey’s?  _ Knowing _ it could have ended awkwardly, because he  _ knows, _ instinctively, how Harry would react to his scent? Was he trying to prove something to himself? Or Blaise? Something along the lines of,  _ watch, he’ll come with me, and nothing will happen because he’s dating the She-Weasel. _

 

Little did he know that bringing Harry might have just been him digging his own grave. Harry’s scent, reacting to his own, had nearly lulled him into sleep when she was working the cream into his neck. It was thick, crisp, but with a gentle protectiveness instead of the one he had scented a few weeks prior when he was attacked. 

 

Draco fought to keep his head when Harry was  _ right there, _ buttoning his shirt. He could have let Harry tie his tie, but that would mean another moment of trying to think of something to distract him from his scent and he just wasn’t capable of doing it. He was glad, then, that Harry didn’t question him, or ask to do it for him, because Draco swears, he was  _ this close _ to swooning like some love-struck teenager and he might’ve been more prickly than he ought to, to compensate for the fact. 

 

Little did he know, though, that at the mess hall Blaise was having  _ quite  _ an interesting conversation with Granger and the Weasel, that had everything to do with the two who seemed daft at relationships and their own feelings. Of course, Blaise wasn’t one who said  _ show me yours and I’ll show you mine, _ but rather,  _ show me yours and I’ll decide if it’s worth it to pass on the message subliminally.  _

 

As they neared the table, Draco felt hesitant to leave the comfort of Harry’s scent. Felt loath to leave his side, so when he heard Blaise greet him from his left, he sighed a bit of relief that Harry didn’t seem to be just dropping him off near Blaise, but settling on Draco’s right at the table.

 

“Ah, welcome back. How was it?” Blaise asks, his knowing nearly causing a blush to break out. Draco composed himself, shooting him a side glance.

 

“As one would imagine.” He says cryptically. He couldn’t really say,  _ you would not  _ believe _ how absolutely fucked I am  _ at the table, when Harry’s friends were there, when  _ Harry  _ was there, now could he?

 

“Right.” Blaise hums, and Draco could hear him moving about, no doubt putting food stuffs on a plate. He could hear the crunch of an apple as it gets cut into pieces and a plate scooting his way along the wooden table. Draco hums back, a little thank you as he taps the table until he finds the plate and picks up an apple slice and takes a bite; green. His favorite.

 

“How are your classes going, Draco?” Hermione asks and Draco turns to her voice, giving a half-shrug. 

 

“As well as anybody else’s.” They were pleasant to each other, if not a little awkward. 

 

“What about braille? Is that hard?” Draco swallows his bite, pursing his lips. 

 

“Yes. Is it possible to be dyslexic while reading with your finger?” That gets a giggle out from her and he loosens up a bit. 

 

“Do you mind if I see your book?” Draco shrugs, reaching into his bag at his side and rummaging through his books, feeling the tops of them. He pulls out the beginners book and hands it over, holding it up high as to not accidentally knock it with the food at the table. Draco takes back his hand when the weight is taken from his hands, taking another slice to eat. “This is amazing,” Hermione says with wonder.

 

“There’s no pictures.” Ron complains, and Draco has to dampen the urge to roll his eyes. “Or colors.”

 

“I’m  _ blind. _ What use do I have for pictures and colors?” Blaise snickers next to him, amused at the level airheadedness Ron seems to hold. “Does it have words?” He asks. “For non-blind?” Because he’d been wondering for a while, but had never actually asked. All this time he’d been struggling to feel which is which when he could have had someone with sight tell him which it is. 

 

“Yes. Briefly.” Hermione says with a smile in her voice. “Here,” She says and Draco raises a hand for her to place the book in his hands. 

 

“Can I..?” Harry asks from beside him and he slides it over, carefully making sure nothing was on the table with a swipe of his hand before doing so. “What’s this say?” He asks. 

 

“Which one?” Draco raises a hand, pointer finger at the ready. “Show me,” He says when he doesn’t feel Harry’s hand automatically cover his. The heat was near-startling. Most men he knew were furnaces anyway, but it seemed alphas were even more so. Draco felt over the ridges on the page, running through his memory. 

 

⠇⠕⠧⠑

 

_ Love _

 

Draco narrows his eyes. “Are you testing me, or is there really no English written on there?”

 

“There’s no English.” Harry replies and Draco takes a moment to study the tone in which he said it. He certainly didn’t  _ sound _ like he was lying. Harry bloody Potter probably didn’t even know how to lie properly. It sounded like he was just genuinely curious, and not at all trying to trap Draco in some way, shape, for form. 

 

But Draco was loath to say it out loud anyway, because then that’d be like some sign from the universe in which he wasn’t ready to receive. 

 

“Find out yourself.” Draco says, taking another slice to munch on, hoping a stuffed face would excuse his from answering. 

 

“Did you need help studying?” 

 

Draco blinks, glancing to his right as if wondering if he heard it right. And it wasn’t like he could look back to Blaise and have a quick mental chat through looks because one, he can’t see, and two, they probably had an audience, and that audience included Blaise and he  _ swore  _ he felt Blaise smirk from beside him. 

 

“Oh. I suppose your assistance could prove useful.” Draco says, playing it cool though his heart hammered against his chest.  _ Don’t read into it, don’t read into it, _ he told himself, although he just had this  _ feeling _ that Blaise would tease and tell him,  _ read into it. _

 

Blaise poked his side gently and Draco fought not to squirm. Indeed. Blaise would be the kind of arsehole to encourage reading into it.


	14. Chapter 14

It was surprisingly easy to gather courage after grasping a hold of achieving it. Draco was surprisingly open to his suggestions. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he was  _ pliant, _ because that word itself didn’t seem to be of Draco's vocabulary of adjectives that describe him. 

 

This studying together actually helped him get a little better at the nuances Draco has. His little quirks, his favorite snacks. He was talkative, sanguine, but barely about anything of importance. His annoyance at the  _ clack, clack, clack _ of passing gal’s high heels (what kinda person would  _ purposefully  _ put themselves in such pain by putting their feet in something like high heels?), his annoyance at Professor Whitlock that takes the class  _ so slow (I already know the alphabet, what’s the point in taking such a slow pace when I’ve got fundamentals down?).  _ Basically, Draco complains. But it wasn’t like he was  _ complaining,  _ complaining. He was just.. critiquing? 

 

Yeah. That was it. It was kind of… cute? Well, cute in the sense that Draco was complaining to fill the silence when they weren’t studying. 

 

Or how Draco didn’t like wearing the same clothes twice without them being washed. Or how he preferred green grapes to red, green  _ apples  _ to red ones. 

 

_ How much more Slytherin can you get? _ Harry had asked him and Draco turns his nose up in such a pompous way that it amused him. 

 

_ All I need is to learn Parseltongue,  _ Draco replied. 

 

Or how when Harry teased him, coming down to his level of humor and he gasped, mouth dropping in shock before he shoves him. How his laugh is full of cheer and amusement when he’s not purposefully making it into that sneer; like tinkling laughter, loud and unabashed before he realized how loud he was laughing and bites his lip, pretending to ignore Harry. 

 

How Draco was particularly ticklish on his upper ribs. Harry had found that out as they were taking a stroll outside during the fall. He meant it as a jab, something what Draco does but on a lower level. Draco gave an indignant squeak, twitching half a foot away and then trying to play it off like nothing had happened. 

 

Except it didn't work. 

 

And Draco  _ knew _ it didn’t work, because he let go of Harry’s arm and stepped away, glaring, hissing,  _ “Don’t you dare, Potter.”  _ But Harry  _ did _ dare. Harry dropped his bag, as did Draco, before he bolted, autumn leaves crushing underfoot. His fear of being tickled must’ve outweighed the fear he felt running blind. He didn’t get far, not with Harry in pursuit; longer legs, stronger strides. The chase made his heart race, something in his innermost self feeling oddly challenged by it, in a good way. 

 

Harry practically  _ scoops _ him up in one arm, hearing Draco’s squeal of surprise of being lurched forward in a tackle. Harry rolls them, taking the brunt of the crash to the ground and his hands find Draco’s side and start their attack. 

 

Draco  _ shrieks. _ He squirms and wiggles, arching his back to get away as if that will get away from Harry’s hands which found their way under Draco’s robes, catching the most tickling part of his ribs just under and at the sides of his shoulder blades. He kicked, which Harry barely noticed, caught off guard by how the setting sun shone on Draco just then; surrounded by autumn leaves, hair a glorious mess. Unrestrained laughter, along with shouts of,  _ “Harry! Bloody! Potter!”  _

 

Draco elbows him and because he was caught off guard by the complete ethereality of that moment and Harry loosens his hold enough for Draco to twist in his hold and try to bolt. He didn’t get far until Harry got his wits back and lurched again, wrapping his arms full around Draco and hears his squeal as his fingers ran ticklishly at his sides. Draco’s hands cover his in an attempt to stop him and he lessened the barrage. It didn’t work, Draco’s petite hands barely cover his own, but Harry stopped anyway, keeping his fingers resting at his sides. 

 

Draco catches his breath, curled up on his side under him. His lip was still curled in an aftereffect of laughter. Harry lifted himself up on his forearms, which made it a bit of a tight squeeze for Draco trapped in his arms but he was small enough to fit there without too much squishing.

 

“Ahh, I’m going to hex your balls off, Potter.” Draco’s sightless eyes go to him, his fingers drumming on Harry’s. He didn’t seem  _ too _ pissed off at being tackled and tickled, but Harry could be imagining it as the light of the twilight glistened across the horizon, catching his diaphanous hair, pale blond and white, near gossamer against the light. 

 

The laughter had turned his cheeks rosy, like an elf dusted with blush. Now that he took the time to actually admire his looks, Draco had rather long eyelashes. So fae-like, just add the pointed eas and some elegant cloth, stick some wings made of aging autumn leaves on his back and he’d complete the picture.

 

Harry smiles, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder, staring into his eyes; still so pretty despite the milky center. 

 

“No, you won’t.” 

 

Harry ignores the passersby who unabashedly glanced at them, wondering what they were doing. The sun started to set, dimming the ethereal shine on Draco’s skin and turning him ghostly as the sun’s final rays kiss the sky goodbye. Harry skimmed his fingers lightly, Draco biting his lip as he squirms just a tad, grip on his hands tightening before relaxing just as Harry stilled his fingers. 

 

Draco smiles, something small and private and just between them, biting on his lip again against amusement, eyes narrowed in mirth.

 

“No, I won’t.” 


	15. Chapter 15

Draco had been almost… surprised, at how much he had actually come to like Harry. When he wasn’t being a complete moron, that is. Which was becoming quite frequent, in Draco’s eyes. 

 

A majority of his time was spent in company of Harry. Harry toted him around to his classes, passed him off to Blaise at the door, he accompanied him to Madam Pomfrey, he helped him study, brought him green apples and occasional sweets (which Draco, of course,  _ loved).  _ He hesitated to call them  _ friends, _ because Harry certainly didn't  _ treat _ him like a friend. Sure, he took up teasing in the Slytherin fashion but it was… gentle? 

 

Anyway, what he  _ means _ to say is Harry bloody Potter was acting more mate-like; courting him, perhaps, even if he didn't know about it. Not that Draco even knew until Blaise had slyfully informed him that,  _ “Potter sure has taken to you, hasn’t he?” _

 

“Of course he has. I’m irresistible.” Draco had replied, peeling off the bandages in the safety of his dorm. The swelling had gone down completely and by next week Madam Pomfrey should give the okay to keep them off permanently. He was… trepidatious, about that. Blaise had told him the intensity with which his scent rolls off him had lessened considerably since he stopped the potions and cream, but that didn’t stop him from  _ worrying.  _

 

“You sure are.” Blaise had said back, a teasing grin in his voice that Draco knew to be a smirk, knowing, and Draco felt his cheeks flush. “How many courting gifts has he given you, now?”

 

“I don’t know which gifts you’re talking about.” Draco sulkily changes into a sleep shirt before going to his bed, patting down the blankets and pillows and shoving them into correct slots for cuddle-time. 

 

“Most obvious? The sweets,” Blaise hums. Draco feels the bed depress when Blaise takes his usual spot on the bed and Draco snuggles up to his side, humming at the warmth he provided. 

 

“He gives everyone sweets.” Draco rebutted.

 

“He helps you study.”

 

_ “You _ help me study.” 

 

“He learned braille for you.” Blaise says slyly and Draco hit his chest with a first lightly.

 

“I’m  _ trying  _ to have a decent cuddle-nap.” He says, but his cheeks burned. He knew Harry was lavishing attention on him, bringing him gifts, inconsequential little things but it made Draco just a little bit more soft toward that suggestion. He was  _ supposed _ to be good at compartmentalizing. Harry fit into the arch-nemeses box, but since Harry found out about his…  _ predicament, _ he’d been rudely breaking through the walls of the box from arch-nemeses to potential-friend and now he broke into the potential mate category like that bloody muggle Kool Aid man. 

 

“Just thought you’d finally gotten over your denial, is all.” Blaise said, but it was light and not  _ too _ teasing. And it wasn’t like Draco was…  _ opposed _ to the idea of he and Harry dating, but…

 

“... I’ve had a lot on my mind, is all.” Draco says, pursing his lips. He doesn’t often open up, especially about vulnerabilities. 

 

“Does that something have to do with a certain alpha that smells like a forest?” He teases and Draco was too worried about the thing on his mind to respond like he usually does. Blaise catches on, shifting, and Draco was sure he was looking at him. Draco kept his cheek on Blaise’s chest, staring straight ahead, pretending he could see the outline of his room. “What is it?”

 

Draco is quiet for another moment, weighing benefits and consequences. 

 

“... My mother.” He finally says, quietly. “It’s been weeks already since Madam Pomfrey sent word to her, and I  _ still _ haven’t heard anything back.” Draco smooths out the lines in the blanket under his hand. “... I doubt Madam Pomfrey would have waited to send the letter.” There was really only a few realities in what silence from his mother could mean. His parents were both proud alphas, he was sure the last thing they were expecting were to give birth to an omega male. A beta would have been preferable at that point. 

 

Worry swirled in his head, his heart heavy. He hadn’t gotten notice that he was locked out from the vaults, so maybe that was a good sign?

 

Blaise’s hand found the back of his neck and he tensed for a second before relaxing. He took a deep breath, Blaise massaging the tension in his neck while simultaneously spreading his calming scent; a pillar of strength right now. It was comforting. He doesn’t give scenarios of what could have happened or what his mother could be thinking. 

 

Draco sighs, letting his scent smooth over his frayed nerves and nuzzles into his shoulder, letting their scents combine to provide further comfort that this was a safe space. Draco closes his eyes, and after a few more deep, steadying breaths, he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

Harry frowns, hesitantly sitting by Draco during study time at the library. Something was… off, about him. Harry opened his text book, glancing to Draco every once in a while. He hadn’t changed his hair; his clothes are the same as they always were. But there was something different…

 

Draco sat, hands over a braille book, mouth shaping to the words he was reading. Harry leans in close to watch when it finally hit him.

 

_ Draco smelled like Blaise. _

 

Not in the biblical terms, or whatever. Just… Smelled a lot like him.  _ A lot. _

 

“Why do you smell like Zabini?” He asks, trying to keep his tone light. He didn’t think it came out as intended. Draco’s sightless eyes turn to him, a slight furrow in his brow. 

 

“Do I?” He asks, taking a delicate sniff of his shoulder and hums. “I didn’t have time to shower this morning. We woke up late.”

 

_ We? _ He wanted to ask. He stared a hole into Draco’s face just to get his intention of asking but not actually asking across. After an indefinite amount of silence, Draco turns to him again, brow raised.

 

“I can  _ feel _ you staring.” He deadpans and Harry was tempted to say  _ well that was the point. Now answer my unasked question. _ Harry stayed quiet, trying to telepathically communicate the stupid question. Draco raised his hand, slowly, until it touched the side of his face. Harry was too confused/surprised about what he was doing that he didn't even think; Draco patted his face until he got to his forehead, flicking it with a rather well-manicured finger.

 

“Ow!” Harry clicks his tongue, rubbing his forehead. “What was that for?”

 

“I can hear you  _ thinking _ and it’s giving me a headache. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He says simply, hand lowering back to his book. 

 

“It’s  _ not _ in the gutter..” Harry grumbles. He wasn’t pouting. He  _ wasn’t. _ Draco glanced at him again and as if deciding to have mercy on his poor soul, he explained.

 

“We’re cuddle-buddies, for a lack of a better word.” Draco makes a light face, moving his finger back to the first braille mark, haven lost his place. “We forgot to turn the alarm on before we fell asleep.”

 

_ “Cuddle-buddies? _ Why in the world would you wanna cuddle  _ Blaise  _ for?” He asks, a little louder than intended. Draco seemed surprised, but rolls his eyes and shook his head.

 

“And why wouldn’t I? He’s an excellent cuddle-buddy. He’s much better than your stiff arse.” 

 

“I could be an  _ amazing  _ cuddle-buddy.” Amazing is a step above excellent, isn’t it?

 

Draco rolls his milky eyes, his finger against the raised bumps on the page again. 

 

“Are you saying you’d rather cuddle me then Blaise?” He asks like Harry wasn’t thinking about it constantly.

 

“Yes.” Harry says with such conviction, staring at Draco with such intention he wonders if Draco could feel it.

 

Draco obviously wasn’t expecting his answer, let alone with the emotion it was said. His head jerked to blindly look at Harry; jaw slackened in surprise. Red crawled up Draco’s neck and up to his cheeks so quickly that Harry had half a mind to be worried. He was speechless,  _ embarrassed. _ Or maybe just shy. Whatever it was, Draco can’t hide that blush with his fair skin. 

 

Though he clicks his jaw shut and turns back to his braille, the blush was still going strong. 

 

“I’d rather keep Blaise.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enjoy the development!_

Draco was  _ not  _ prepared for that. 

 

Who knew Harry bloody Potter had that kind of bluntness in him? Honestly, he should have. But he just.. wasn’t prepared.  _ At all. _

 

Draco swears his face was boiling for hours later and the worst part about it all was he couldn’t even  _ pretend _ he wasn’t interested. Even someone as blockheaded as Harry would know, from one look, just how affected he was. When Blaise came to pick him up Draco shoved his textbook into his bag and stood, futilely trying to hide his face and jabbed Blaise in the stomach,  _ hard, _ when he asked why his face was so red. 

 

“Any redder and you’ll turn into a Gryffindor.” Blaise teased, so much amusement in his voice that Draco weighed the pros and cons of shoving Blaise away and trying to make it to his next class by himself. Draco groans, letting go when they got to the first stair and dropping down to sit on it, leaning his head on his knees. 

 

“I give up. I can’t do this,” he groans.

 

Blaise laughs, full-bellied and delighted at Draco’s near constant struggle lately. He flicks playfully at the tips of Draco’s ears that peek from his hair, no doubt red. 

 

“C’mon you big baby.”

 

“Let me die here.” Blaise snorts a laugh.

 

“Such a drama queen. Should I get your knight in shining alpha to get you out of your slump?”

 

Draco nearly  _ screamed. _

 

“Oh, come on, what did he say to you that has you redder than Phoenix fire?” Blaise settles next to him on the stairs, giving up the pretense they’ll make it to class on time. The hallways had started to dwindle, not many straying behind to see what the pair were up to. “He didn’t…” Blaise whispered conspiratorially, “..  _ proposition you, _ did he?” 

 

Draco’s head snapped up, his face felt on fire all over again. “Not on your life!” Blaise laughs again.

 

“Then spill.” Draco groaned. This was gonna seem  _ so stupid. _ It wasn’t even that bad! Draco buries his face back in his knees.

 

“No. It’s utterly ridiculous. I shouldn’t even be  _ having _ this kind of reaction.” 

 

“Still waiting.”  Draco groans and muses his hair.  _ God. So stupid. Stupid Potter. Stupid omega hormones. Stupid feelings. _

 

“He said he’d rather cuddle me than you.” He grumbles, glaring at whatever is in front of him. Blaise is silent next to him and as the seconds drag on Draco feels his face heat further and he groans again. “Shut your bloody trap, Zabini.” 

 

“I—“ Blaise snickers, laughter starting to bubble up in his voice. “I haven’t said— ahh, anything.” And then the laughter gets louder until he wonders how Blaise hadn’t fallen down the stairs yet, no doubt lying now in a pool of his own amused tears. 

 

Draco bears the indignity of the foolishness for a while longer, but Blaise still kept laughing like no tomorrow and he didn’t  _ stop. _ Draco tried to hold onto the bitter feeling, the overwhelming idea of it, of what could happen, but with Blaise’s rambunctious laughter he couldn’t help but start laughing himself. First with barely concealed snickering that turned into giggles until he, too, could barely keep himself sat upright. 

 

They leaned on each other for support, probably looking like a couple of right whack jobs hysterically laughing on the stairwell. Draco wipes a tear from his eye, his tummy hurt from laughing. 

 

“Merlin, I’m completely fucked, aren’t I?” Draco’s face felt flushed, but now only from the laughter as it dies down. “He got jealous over your scent on me and I overreacted to a harmless suggestion.”

 

“Ahh, how the mighty have fallen.” They laugh again, but it didn’t spiral out of control. “Now that we’ve worked through that problem, want to ditch class?”

 

“Oh god, please.”

 

* * *

 

They skipped the following classes leading up to dinner time. It wasn’t something they did often, as they  _ did _ actually like learning on the right occasion. But Draco felt he needed a break from being primp and proper and paraded around, on either of Blaise’s or Harry’s arms. 

 

So they went back to the dorms, took a nap together, and showered off their scents before heading to the mess hall. 

 

Draco felt like he got his head back on the right way, or at least tightened some screws that were loose in his head. He didn’t completely freak and pretend to ignore Harry when they took their seats at the table. 

 

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked. “You weren’t in last class.” 

 

“Perfectly fine.” Draco grins, picking a sweet from the plate Blaise had slid in front of him— or it could have been Harry. The treat smelled suspiciously of apples. “Ever played hookie, Granger? It’s quite relaxing.” He says, and though it might have been implied he played hookie with  _ Blaise, _ he hopes the fact he doesn’t have his scent on him anymore would be enough of a signal to Harry. 

 

Like  _ hey, get a clue. _

 

Hermione gasps as if scandalized.  _ “You?  _ Skip class? I’d never thought I’d see the day!” She teases and Draco snickers.

 

“Yes, well. Never did  _ I.” _ And then they laugh again, because for all his differences with Hermione, they actually had the same type of humor.  _ Puns. _ Who would have guessed? 

 

Draco heard the flaps of the owl wings as the messenger owls flew in to deliver mail. He didn’t think anything of it, taking a third bite of his sweet.

 

“Draco.” Blaise catches his attention and he hums, turning to his voice.

 

“What is it?”

 

“A letter. For you.” Draco stares at him, face blank before raising his free hand and waving it in front of his face. Blaise sighs in exasperation. “Just put your bloody pie down and feel it.”

 

That got Draco’s attention. 

 

Draco swallowed his slice and picked up a napkin to wipe his hands off, carefully making sure no stickiness stuck to his fingers before letting Blaise put the letter in his hand and he felt it—  _ braille. _ His eyes widen and he finds the wax seal, carefully pulling it away and feeling the contents of the paper. 

 

⠍⠽⠀⠙⠁⠗⠇⠊⠝⠛⠀⠙⠗⠁⠉⠕⠠

 

_ My darling Draco,  _

 

Draco’s breath hitched. Slowly, he felt for the next paragraph and read over it slowly, emotion welling up in his heart of hearts. 

 

* * *

 

It had caught Harry’s attention that Draco no longer smelled like Blaise, and for a second he wonders if he did that on purpose. If that was to either encourage him or dissuade him. He had also managed to bribe one of the house elves to make him a special apple pie. Was that too much? Too obvious? He’s been trying not to go overboard with showing his feelings. Hermione said it might scare Draco away; intimidate him or something. 

 

But he ate the pie happily, licking at the jam left on his fingers in such an innocent way; Harry was sure it was innocent. 

 

Harry tried not to be too nosy about the letter Draco got. How could he even read a letter? Harry ate, occasionally chatting with Ron or someone else at the table. Since they’ve added Blaise and Draco, it’s been a full house. And now Pansy had joined, becoming fast friends with everyone else. 

 

It was a couple minutes later that his nose picked up something.. salty. And he blinks, because it certainly wasn’t any of the food. He turns to Draco, alarmed, as he sees tears streaking gently down his face.

 

“Draco, are you alright?” Harry puts his hand over Draco’s, the one that still held a pointer finger at the end of the braille writing.

 

“Huh?” Draco blinks. “Of course I am, why would you—“ He blinks before he seems to notice his tears. “Oh, what—“ he touches a hand to his cheeks, feeling the wetness upon him and he was surprised by it. “I’m fine, I—“ His speech cut off, choked with emotion and he seemed to cave in on himself. Slytherin barely show vulnerabilities, if at all, and they certainly don’t show it around those who aren’t in their circle of trust. Harry could tell he wanted to bolt, but was stuck on account of him being blind. 

 

Draco’s cheeks started to flush red, from embarrassment or emotion and Harry leapt into action without thinking, pulling Draco to him and hiding his face in his neck. Over his head he caught Blaise’s gaze, both lost but then Blaise made a gesture that he took to meant,  _ take care of him, _ and Harry stood, Draco inadvertently coming along as he clung to Harry’s robes. 

 

_ What in the world was written in there that it would make him cry? _ Harry wondered and he stuffed the folded paper into his pocket. He wasn’t going to read it, not without permission anyway, but he felt he needed some answers. 

 

Draco’s legs didn’t really work as he dragged them away from the mess hall, and it was hard to walk while still keeping Draco’s face covered so he made the executive decision of picking him up and hoping Draco didn’t kill him for carrying him bridal style when he gets his wit back about him. 

 

Harry took him upstairs to the common rooms, knowing they have private bathrooms in which the general populace wouldn't be able to barge in and disrupt their peace. Draco held onto his robs like they were a life line, keeping his face tucked in Harry’s neck and breathing deep, steady breaths between his occasional hiccup. Harry locks the door behind him and sets Draco on the closed toilet seat lid. 

 

“Are you alright?” He asks, slowly extracting himself from Draco, hesitantly, as if ready to stay if Draco need it. Draco nods feebly, eyes red and face ruddy. He still had this look of beauty about him, even when crying. 

 

“I-I’m fine.” Draco took a breath. “I suppose I make a pretty picture right about now.” He says sarcastically. “Where am I?” He asks before Harry could interject and say he does. 

 

“Eighth year common room. Private bathrooms.” He says by way of explanation. “Do you need anything? Water?” Draco sniffles, wiping under his nose and making a face.

 

“Water would be brilliant. And to wash my face.” He says in distaste. Harry took hold on his arm, giving a gentle tug to pick him up and bring him the two steps to the sink, turning on the water for him. 

 

“I’ll go get you a cup.” He says, going to fetch one, all the while wondering how he should go about this. Ask straight out,  _ who made you cry? _ He doesn’t think that would go over so well. He comes back, chilled cup of water in hand just as Draco turned off the tap, looking around as if he’d spot the towel. Harry puts one in his hands and with a quiet  _ thanks, _ Draco patted down his face. The corners of his eyes were still red, cheeks blotchy with red, but at least he wasn’t crying.  

 

“... Who was the letter from?” He asks, taking Draco’s hand to set the cup of water in it. Draco drinks gratefully for a second, taking a calming breath.

 

“My mother…” He says softy, and for an absurd second Harry swore he would get revenge on her. “It wasn’t bad.” Draco says, cutting through Harry’s mental promising. “It was just… overwhelming. Sorry for that display.” He says, further embarrassed by the situation. “Stupid hormones are running amuck.”

 

Harry hums in addition to his nod.  _ No apologies necessary _ might fly right over Draco’s head. 

 

“Can I read it?”

 

* * *

Now that was the question of the century, wasn’t it?

 

_ Can Harry Potter read the letter? _

 

Draco’s initial response would be  _ I think not, _ but he hesitated. There was no reason for Harry to read the letter, and there was absolutely no reason for Draco to  _ not _ let him read the letter. If wasn’t bad, and for all that he’s trusted Harry with already (his  _ life, _ practically, not to mention letting him lead Draco to Merlin knows where and trusting him completely), what’s another thing added to the list?

 

Draco nods, “Yeah.”

 

Draco focuses on the cool water slipping down his throat instead of the silence that followed, leaning against the counter. He knew what the letter had read, with how slowly and deliberately he read it, catching every word his mother had somehow written. 

 

⠊⠍⠀⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽⠀⠊⠞⠀⠞⠕⠕⠅⠀⠎⠕⠀⠇⠕⠝⠛⠀⠞⠕⠀⠺⠗⠊⠞⠑⠀⠞⠕⠀⠽⠕⠥⠨

 

_ I’m sorry it took so long to write to you. _

 

She wrote how she, too, had to learn how to read and write braille before she could send a letter, and that meant getting updates from his teachers on how much he knew how to read and write braille, and how she had wanted the next letter she wrote to have meaning— to show she loved him. No matter what. 

 

⠊⠀⠚⠥⠎⠞⠀⠺⠁⠝⠞⠀⠽⠕⠥⠀⠞⠕⠀⠃⠑⠀⠓⠁⠏⠏⠽⠠⠀⠙⠗⠁⠉⠕⠨

 

_ I just want you to be happy, Draco. _

 

It was then he had been hit with the thought that, how in the world could he have  _ ever _ thought his mother could possibly hate him? His father, yes, maybe.. But his mother? Narcissa Malfoy née Black was a gift to the world. She as kind as she was thoughtful, brilliant and talented. How his father managed to keep her happy he had no idea, although he was glad to have been born with her as his mother than any other. 

 

⠺⠓⠁⠞⠑⠧⠑⠗⠀⠽⠕⠥⠀⠙⠑⠉⠊⠙⠑⠠⠀⠓⠕⠺⠑⠧⠑⠗⠀⠽⠕⠥⠀⠺⠝⠞⠀⠞⠕⠀⠇⠊⠧⠑⠀⠽⠕⠥⠗⠀⠇⠊⠋⠑⠠

 

_ Whatever you decide, however you want to live your life,  _

 

⠚⠥⠎⠞⠀⠅⠝⠕⠺⠀⠞⠓⠁⠞⠀⠊⠍⠀⠏⠗⠕⠥⠙⠀⠕⠋⠀⠽⠕⠥⠠⠀⠁⠝⠙⠀⠊⠀⠺⠊⠇⠇⠀⠁⠇⠺⠁⠽⠎⠠⠀⠁⠇⠺⠁⠽⠎⠀⠇⠕⠧⠑⠀⠍⠽⠀⠙⠁⠗⠇⠊⠝⠛⠀⠙⠗⠁⠛⠕⠝⠨⠀

 

_ Just know that I’m proud of you, and I will always, always love my Darling Dragon.  _

 

⠺⠊⠞⠓⠀⠞⠓⠑⠀⠙⠑⠑⠏⠑⠎⠞⠀⠇⠕⠧⠑⠠⠀⠍⠥⠍⠨

 

_ With the deepest love, Mum. _

 

The relief just hit him like a freight train and he couldn't stop feeling. He’ll blame that on the hormones, too. He sets cup on the counter, taking a steadying breath. Harry had moved, stepping right up into his space and it startled him a second. He blinks, hoping to look where Harry was standing, raising a brow in question.

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Heat rose up on his cheeks once more, his breath caught. He didn’t really have a reason to say  _ no, _ though he doubts Harry would push it if he says it. He’s… gentleman-y like that. Draco couldn’t ignore the implication of it if he tried. Not to mention the rumors (and confirmation from Blaise) that he and the she-Weasel have broken up have solidified his conclusion that Harry was courting him, in his own weird way. Not that Draco had anything to compare it to. 

 

So he nods.

 

Draco’s heart was pounding, and a second stretched before he felt a pair of lips gracing his cheek gently. He was a little surprised.

 

“The cheek? Really, Potter? I thought for sure you’d go for—“ 

 

A hand gracing his cheek stunned him into silence. It was warm, spreading that warmth down his neck to meet the flush he surely has. Harry’s fingers were calloused, but oddly smooth, and he shivered involuntarily when they grazed his ears as they went into his hair in a caress. His heart felt rabbit-quick in his chest, anticipation building up in his veins. 

 

One of the truly daunting things about being blind, wondering when you’ll be kissed.

 

Draco swallows as he feels that warm hand dip under the collar of his shirt, fingering the edges of the bandages that lay there. Come tomorrow, they would be coming off. He shivers again as fingers graze the back of his neck and he tilted his chin up, just so, unknowingly, and just barely, baring his neck. He might’ve even raised himself on his toes, but he’ll deny it if asked. 

 

Harry’s lips met his in a simple brush, gentle and sweet and exactly what he needed because Harry’s scent of fresh and pine assaulted his senses and for the first time in his life, he felt as though everything is right with the world.

 

Draco’s hands found Harry’s shirt, not really gripping, but just resting against his chest. Harry’s other hand resting at his hip, whenever did that get there? They pull away a hair’s breadth away before kissing again; just as simple, just as sweet and innocent and everything he needed in the moment and feeling just a bit unworthy. But Draco’s weak and he’ll take it, he’ll give into it.  _ He wants it. _

 

The hand on his neck strokes at his skin gently, making him shiver again. They kiss a third time just because they can, but even after the third kiss they didn’t part ways, Harry tugging Draco forward, directing him to slot into the side of his neck and Draco  _ does _ swoon this time; falling forward like he belongs there and wrapping his arms around his midline. Harry’s keeps working into his neck and it felt heavenly,  _ safe, _ and he didn’t want to leave.

 

So, of course, this  _ had _ to be the part where Harry bleeding Potter said, “Wait,” and pulled away, leaving Draco cold and flabbergasted in the middle of the—  _ wherever  _ the fuck they were. He had half a mind to complain about him leaving so suddenly, opening his mouth to do as such when Harry wraps something warm and soft and  _ big  _ around his neck. Harry’s scent sits like a giant wall around his neck and he blinks, reaching up to touch the material and he felt so thrilled that he purred— a crackling little sound, and he felt so embarrassed by it he swallowed it down. 

 

“What is it?” He asked, because he could only feel so much. Harry pulled him back into his orbit, Draco leaning on him with ease.

 

“A scarf.” Harry says, clearing his throat as if embarrassed. “For you, I mean..” He says, and Draco was smart enough to put two and two together on this particular subject. It was an obvious courting gift, giving something of value, soaked in the scent of the intended, and Draco actually felt  _ delighted  _ at such a prospect. He smiles to himself, fingering the edges of the soft material and another crackling purr starts up before he could stop it. 

 

His omega couldn’t be happier, it seemed. The potential mate of his choosing was giving  _ him _ a gift that held so much meaning and his scent and—

 

_ Wait. _

 

Draco lifted his head from where he had it resting against Harry’s shoulder and he looks up, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

 

“This scarf has bloody Gryffindor colors, doesn’t it?”


	17. Chapter 17

For all his complaining and bemoaning that the scarf was in Gryffindor colors, Draco wore it. 

 

Constantly, in fact.

 

“Nice colors you got there.” He heard Blaise say the next time they saw him.

 

“Thanks. It’s a testament to my beauty that I can pull them off.” Draco said flippantly, sipping at his tea at breakfast. Blaise rolls his eyes, much used to Draco’s quips and deflections and takes his seat.

 

Harry means, he could be biased but he thinks Draco could pull off any look. He could probably even pull off looking like a  _ fashionable _ hobo. It’s probably a skill of his aristocratic upbringing. 

 

Nevertheless, it filled him with an odd sense of pride. Not a possessive sort, because it wasn’t like he was  _ making  _ Draco wear the scarf, but ya know. Draco  _ chooses _ to wear it. Constantly. 

 

It was sweet. Like it was Draco’s way of saying he accepts his affections, instead of rebuking them like he had been; much like Harry had done in the beginning, refusing to accept that a thing like that could be possible. 

 

Harry was so lost in his admiration he had completely missed what the guys across the table were talking about, Ron catching his attention as he calls to Draco,

 

“Malfoy, what do you think is the most attractive on a person?”

 

Draco looked to his voice and said without much pondering, “intelligence.” Ron grins, catching Harry’s eye in a way to let him know he will be teased. 

 

“It’s a wonder you’re dating Harry, then, eh?” 

 

“It’s a wonder indeed,” Draco says with his own amused grin but Harry didn’t feel  _ too  _ teased about it, especially when Draco shifted into his side just barely,  _ intentionally. _ “But he  _ can _ be taught,” Draco continued. “Not everyone can learn braille when they can see.” Harry could have sworn he heard pride in his voice. 

 

“Alright, that’s fair. But what I  _ meant _ was, what part of the body do you like best?” 

 

Draco took pause and Harry wonders why in the  _ hell _ Ron would ask that, of all things. He means, he could  _ maybe _ think Ron thinks he’s helping him out somehow? Like he could find out some things about Draco that Draco won’t eventually tell him himself. But Draco actually took a moment, half second really, before he gave Ron the most unimpressed looked.

 

“Are you  _ really _ comparing what one’s attracted to?” Draco rolls his eyes.

 

“Oh, c’mon, what’s the big deal with answering? I’ll even tell you mine.” 

 

“I have confidence I already know what you like.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” Ron raised a brow, sharing a quick glance with Neville across the table to Blaise’s left. “And what’s that?” It was a good thing Hermione wasn’t here, off doing something for extra credits or something. 

 

“Thighs.” 

 

Ron’s confident look fell and Harry muffles his snickers.  _ Dead straight,  _ thought Harry. 

 

“It was kind of obvious before I went blind.” Draco says with a shrug, picking an apple slice to munch on. Ron pouts, narrowing his eyes at Draco before turning to Harry.

 

“Why don’t you go first, Harry?” Harry looks back at Ron, taking a side glance at Draco who was eating his apple calmly, if not a little piqued with interest.

 

“Uhh, I’d rather not…” Because one, he’d rather not make himself seem like an deviant (even if he is), and two, Ron already  _ knows _ what he likes. 

 

“Well I, for one, am not ashamed to admit I rather fancy nice legs and feet.” Blaise said boldly, causing Draco to snicker. “Remember Fleur? Great set of legs on her.” 

 

“Neville?” Ron asks. 

 

“Backside, definitely.” 

 

“I wouldn’t argue about a nice rack, either.” Blaise says thoughtfully. Draco rolls his eyes. 

 

“Your turn, Malfoy.” Ron says again and Draco sighs like it’ll kill him. 

 

“If I absolutely  _ had _ to choose, I would say the back.”

 

“Lower back?” Blaise asked lewdly, jolting Draco in his side with his elbow. Draco’s cheeks color at the insinuation and glares at him lightly.

 

_ “No. _ Upper back.” 

 

“There’s nothing inherently sexual about the upper back.” Ron says, almost disappointed. 

 

“I’m amazed you know what ‘inherently’ means.” Draco quips. “There is, in fact, particularly nothing of interest. The back is just nice. Stable. I like them.” 

 

And wasn’t that just something interesting? Because this was the first time Harry has heard of this, and he just had to ask. 

 

“Do you like mine?” 

 

Draco’s mouth just a bit, his cheeks flush. He closes his mouth, pretending to look down at his meal. 

 

“I haven't seen it since I went blind.” He deflects, but Harry feels cool hands tiptoe their way across the hand he’s got settled on the bench between them. Harry smiles, turning his hand over so Draco could thread his fingers through his and ignored the catcalls and innuendous little jabs, choosing to focus on the way Draco ignored them as well. 

 

Harry smiles more, leaning close enough to nuzzle just under the lobe of his ear, inhaling the muffled scent from under the bandages, hid further under the scarf. It centers him, grounds him, drowns out unnecessary noises as he presses his lips to just under his jaw. 

 

They fit hand-in-hand, he thinks, Harry’s always had a thing for pretty necks and collarbones.

* * *

  
  


Draco opted to keep the bandages on for a few more days. Not too long, but he was rather… anxious about it. Harry’s scent helped, wrapped around his neck like a protective barrier, mostly pulled up under his nose because why the hell not? The scarf was  _ ginormous. _

 

Anyway. 

 

He didn’t know how people around him would react, and thus choose to do it over the weekend; less people mulling around. Not that he didn’t  _ trust _ Harry to keep him safe or whatever, the scarf around his neck was just as much a brand of mate-ship as a mate mark, but it’s..  _ ugh, _ how come every time he has to eloquently put things into words about his omega feelings his articulation suddenly goes right out the window?

 

Draco tugs on Harry’s arm at the end of class, waiting for the little hum he gives him to indicate Draco has his attention.

 

“Pomfrey.” Draco says, not divulging anything else. He’d been with him to Madam Pomfrey a few times, and knew the bandages would come out eventually. Now that he hasn’t been there for a while and now suddenly decides to go, Harry must’ve understood,

 

“Alright.” Harry says, packing up his books by the sound of things and says goodbye to the others, letting them know they’ll catch them later before leading Draco to the infirmary. 

 

Draco clung to his arm, fingers twitching with nervousness. He didn’t even have anything to be worried  _ about. _ It’s baseless, utterly. 

 

“You okay?” Harry asks once he notices his unease. Draco purses his lips and nods and Harry doesn’t push. Harry hums, another moment of silence passes before he speaks. “You know, Hermione and Ron are gonna be out at Hogsmeade tomorrow.” Draco mentally paused in his worrying, tilting his head to face Harry curiously, raising a brow.

 

“And you’re implying…?” He starts, because it  _ sounds _ like he was implying something rated X and a different type of nervousness started to wriggle in his chest.

 

“Cuddle date.” 

 

Oh.

 

Draco mentally sighed, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “If you feel like you can rise to my standards.” He says, giving a grin. But he was due for a good cuddle, since the last time he’d cuddled anyone was when Blaise and him ditched class. 

 

“I think I can manage.” Harry said dryly, but amused, stepping into the infirmary by the smell of astringent. 

 

“We’ll see.” Draco taunts playfully. 

 

“Good to see you, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy.” Madam Pomfrey greets, shooing a first year from the room after finishing first aid and locks the door when the student scurried off. “What can I do for ya lads?” She asks, and he wonders how her voice can sound so  _ knowing _ when using that phrase and he tries not to pout. 

 

“I wanted to pick up the cream, if that’s alright?” 

 

“Certainly.” Madam Pomfrey mills around, Harry bringing him to sit on one of the beds. “Here you go.” Draco held out his hand and felt her put the tub in his palm. He didn’t waste time before putting it into his backpack. 

 

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it, and he knows she’s smiling when she says,

 

“You’re welcome. Stop by anytime.” 

 

Draco nods, standing and taking hold of Harry’s arm once more as he leads the way out. 

 

“Who’s going to help you with the cream now?” Harry asks conversationally. 

 

“What do you mean? I’m more than capable of putting it on myself.” 

 

“I know, but it’s probably uncomfortable, isn’t it?” Draco could sense something a little more in this little conversation. 

 

“Are you offering?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Draco’s cheeks felt warm and he saw that one coming. Harry didn’t have a subtle bone in his body. But then again, this was perfect, wasn’t it? Draco could take off his bandages in the comfort and safety of his own room, with Harry there, and he’d help put the cream on. Win-win, it seemed like. Not that Draco could even say no or pretend that didn’t make him happy at this point.

 

“Alright.” 

 

* * *

 

Harry had been led to Draco’s room via explanation, the portrait looking oddly at them before letting them in after Draco quipped he’d fall down the stairs without someone leading him. And that was how Harry ended up in this position.

 

Harry at at the edge of Draco’s bed, Draco between his legs. 

 

Not that way.

 

Draco was leaning forward, knees brought to his chest to rest forward against them, giving Harry a full view of his back. It was pale, practically scarless. Unlike his chest, where he has the remnants of the sectumsempra scars, although they, too, were mostly faded; the skin no longer held deep groves, only little peaks, and it was a light pink instead of an angry rouge. He had seen them when Draco sat and brought his knees of his chest, looking just a little self conscious. 

 

Harry follows the knobs that poke out from Draco’s spine, eyes trailing lower, tracing the dip between the vertebrae and muscle. Now that he actually comes face-to-face with Draco’s back, it’s a wonder why Harry never really paid attention to them. He could see Draco’s appeal to them. 

 

Harry unscrewed the top of the jar and set it aside before carefully peeling off the bandages. They came off easy, sticking more like skin-tape for wounds than what Draco had been wearing before and he lets them drop to the floor somewhere to his right when Draco’s scent was freed. He focused just enough to peel the other two off before he lost himself in the scent. 

 

It was so nice. Still the all encompassing, nearly overwhelming scent that fills his lungs and causes him to feel like he’s completely zonked out, but it wasn't like the first few times and it especially wasn’t like the first time. 

 

Against his own better judgement, Harry leans his head down to Draco’s neck, close enough to touch just barely as he breathes in deep. He could feel Draco shudder, gooseflesh prickling his skin as he exhaled, but Draco didn’t pull away or even argue. Harry took another inhale and then another, lost in the sweet, meringue-like scent. Airy and hard to describe, harder to capture the essence. He let out a noise, he was sure, but not quite sure on what  _ kind _ of noise, only that he heard Draco muffle a little whimper. But it wasn’t out of fear, his brain told him, clouding his judgement as his alpha whispers to just bite him, he’ll taste so sweet to sink teeth into his neck. His lips brush the skin, giving it the tiniest bit of bites and Draco twitched. Harry hadn't even realized his arms were wrapped around him.

 

_ Just do it,  _ his alpha whispered and he was  _ so _ tempted to until Draco pushed his head back with a palm on his forehead. Harry blinks as he comes back to himself, Draco’s dorm room coming back into focus before he looks back down at Draco. His ears were positively crimson. 

 

“Are you gonna help me put the cream on or are you gonna keep smelling me like a creep?” Draco snarked, but he refused to look back at Harry and Harry briefly wonders if he scared Draco with his momentary loss of control until he realized Draco didn’t really give off any kind of scent to indicate he was scared, or worried, but  _ interested. _

 

“Sorry.” Harry says, giving a helpless smile as he picks up the open tub of cream and swipes a dollop on his fingers. He smooths the cream onto Draco’s shoulders which had tensed, now slowly dropping in relaxation as Harry smooths in the cream along his shoulders. Draco sighs a little, leaning more on his knees. 

 

Harry smooths the cream in, pressing his thumbs in deeper along the muscle of his shoulder and Draco sighs more, practically losing all tenseness and rigidity. Harry smiles, moving his thumb along his trapezius and up to his neck, massaging out the tension there. He didn’t know much about the human body, or massaging, but he could guess Draco had a bunch of knots in his muscles from all the years and he deserved to have some peace. This cream probably wasn’t the best for massaging, but he would use it anyway as he pressed his knuckles in a fist and slides them down right along the muscles of his spine. 

 

Draco  _ moans  _ and he felt rather accomplished and it was a miracle he hadn’t gotten distracted by his scent, which turned sweeter, fuller, and settled heavier in his lungs. 

 

Harry looks around, hoping to catch sight of lotion, something to work with that wasn't specifically for his glands and spotted a bottle next to the night stand.  _ Perfect. _ That could also explain why Draco always had such soft hands (you know, besides the fact he’s omega. Then again, the tub could also potentially belong to Blaise). Harry finishes up working the current cream into his neck before closing the tub. 

 

“Hey,” Harry gently pats at his shoulder. Draco hummed, opening his eyes slowly and glancing back over his shoulder. “Lay on the bed.” Harry stood, gently ushering Draco up who went without struggle, looking like he could fall asleep at any time. “Lie down,” he says, glancing over at his naked chest, the scars staring back before Draco hummed in curiosity and lays down. On his side. “No, on your belly.” Draco gives him a  _ look. _ “Trust me.” Draco sighed and scooted to be more comfortable, settling on his belly and closing his eyes. 

 

Harry takes the bottle he saw, climbing onto the bed and sitting on his thighs, legs straddling thin hips and any other time Harry’s thoughts might’ve went south. Now though, he was on a mission and his sex drive could wait. Draco twisted his torso to look at him questioningly and Harry pats his flank. 

 

“Just lay back down.” Draco narrows his eyes suspiciously before laying back down, arms under the pillow his head was on. Harry smiles and pops the top off, squeezing some onto his hand and rubbing his hands to warm it up a bit before placing his hands on Draco’s lower back. Draco twitched in surprise before Harry presses deeper into his muscle with his palm and slides his hands up slowly on either side of his spine. 

 

_ “Oh.” _ Draco says in surprise, tension bleeding from him again. Harry could hear tiny little pops in his spine as he pops the bubbles all the way up to his neck and he smooths his hands outward on his shoulders. Draco sighs, melting again and becoming pliant under his working hands. 

 

Harry continues to massage, working a little deeper at a knot and taking cues from how Draco inhales sharply or sighed deeply. His scent permeated the room, happy and content and peaceful and by this point, haven massaged out most knots and tension, Harry was just admiring his back now. Yes, he can definitely see Draco’s appeal. 

 

The knobs of his spine, the dips of his muscles, the slope of his neck and shoulders. 

 

Very appealing indeed.


	18. Chapter 18

Saturday came quicker than he thought it would. But then again, why would it? It wasn’t twenty-four hours later that Saturday would come about since Friday after school. While everyone else was at Hogsmeade, Harry came to escort Draco back to his dorm.

 

This, however, wasn’t really what Harry was prepared for when he lead Draco inside.

 

“Where’s a chair?” Draco asks, staring forward. Confused but nonetheless wanting to please, Harry lead him to one, setting his hand on it. Draco hums and nods before he started stripping his jacket. That was normal, who would wanna cuddle in fluffy coats?

 

But then Draco started to strip further and it made Harry flush.

 

“Uhhh…. What’re you doing?” He asks, unable to tear his eyes away about how meticulous Draco was with his clothes despite being blind, and he was certainly caught off guard. Draco raises a brow. 

 

“I’m not going to cuddle in all these layers. What are you, daft?” Draco rolls his milky eyes. He takes off his jacket, sweater, jeans, until all that’s left is some loose enough shirt, some… Harry wants to call them leggings, but they stop halfway down his thigh, and some socks. 

 

It was winter, so it was the perfect time to cuddle. 

 

“Come on then.” Draco waves his hand impatiently, hugging himself as the chill started to grace him.

 

Harry gulped and nodded, quickly dressing down, and just in case, he put on a pair of gym shorts. He didn’t know if Draco would be able to tell the difference between his shorts and boxers, or if he was only wearing one, but he’d rather not take that chance.

 

Harry leads him to the bed a second later, letting Draco scope it out with pats of his hands. 

 

Blaise has given him pointers, as… ludicrous as that may sound. Harry had known he and Blaise were long term cuddle buddies, and Harry knew that if he didn’t want to muck it up again, he’d need help.

 

Blaise had told him to let Draco scope out the bed first. 

 

“Is this not against the wall?” Draco asks, frowning as his hand reaches the other side and hits empty space.

 

“Uh.. yeah.”

 

“Can you move it to the wall?” Draco asks, looking in his direction, vaguely, but making such a face of distress that has Harry scrambling to say yes. 

 

After Draco gets off, Harry moves some things quickly before using magic to move it so the bed could push up against the wall sideways. Draco moves, patting things down and gave a little smile when he felt the wall on the other side.

 

Second pointer was that, for the cuddle session to be fully optimal (whatever that meant), Harry needed to provide an abundance of pillows and blankets, all of which should have his scent (couple of days sleeping on it would suffice, Blaise said). 

 

So, dreading the questions but stealing his resolve, he went and got four pillows and blankets.

 

_ Not just any would do. _ Blaise muttered in his ear.  _ Draco would never cuddle you in a nest of scratchy wool. Things need to be as soft as you can get them. They need to feel pleasant on the skin. It doesn’t have to be silk, either. _

 

Harry bought three more blankets (even though he was sure they didn’t need them, they’ll have a heat stroke even in the winter!), and four extra feather pillows. Ron had looked at him like he was crazy, and he waves him off saying it was nothing. 

 

Now, he could kiss Blaise thank you as Draco’s eyes widen at the feel of all the extra bedding. With a little cheerful trill, he climbs on the bed and starts moving everything around. The pillows rearranged, creating a weird half circle at the head of the bed. Draco stuffed one of the blankets between the wall and bed, and yet another on the other side.

 

_ Also, wait for Draco to finish and invite you in. It’s very imperative you wait for an invitation. _

 

Draco stacks the last two blankets on top of each other, and Harry guesses they would be used as actual blankets, before he looks around like he could see, pats everything down with a feather-light touch, and nods, patting the side of the bed on the outside. 

 

Harry took that as an invitation and carefully climbs over the little wall of fabric on the outside of the bed, laying down, sliding his legs under the blankets. 

 

_ Take a shower in the morning. Just use unscented products. Draco says the natural scent of an alpha is far more appealing for cuddle times. _

 

Blaise had told him the night prior, and he was glad, since Draco seemed to have done it too. His honey-milk scent stronger, warmer, than it was before. 

 

Harry let Draco move him into position, fussing over how tense he was with a pout before finding his spot on the bed. Narrow as it was, Draco ended up half on top of him. Although they could have had more space if he hadn’t put up the wall of fabric, Harry didn’t particularly mind. Draco laid on his side, glued to Harry’s right, chest half on top on his own, ear pressed to it. Draco twists their legs together, and Harry was glad he wore socks because he could feel the chill of the body next to him and he couldn’t have been certain he wouldn’t have jumped had those cold things touched him directly.

 

As they settled in, the blankets pulled up and practically over Draco’s head, Harry had the curious idea of something snakes did in the winter to survive.

 

Kleptothermy. 

 

Where male snakes would display female quirks to snuggle up with a bigger male snake, stealing his heat all winter. 

 

It kind of reminded him of that, as even now Harry didn’t feel sweltering under two thick blankets and a cuddly Draco. Briefly he wonders if this cuddling was due to him being omega. 

 

Draco settled, nose pressed into the little dip in his chest, huffing a little breath, and spoke sleepily.

 

“You might have cuddle-buddy potential after all, Potter.” 

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up to Ron barging in— five hours too early. Harry didn’t move, looking up at Ron who was ranting about the silly little fight he and Hermione had.

 

When he glanced at Harry he paused.

 

“Mate, what the hell is that on your chest?” He was coming closer and at this point Draco had woken up. He lifted his head, the blankets falling down a little bit; Draco didn’t let it bring in cold air.

 

“Would you kindly shut your trap, Weasley? Some of us are trying to sleep.” Ron’s jaw  _ dropped. _

 

Ron sputters, looking like the world is ending as Draco burrows back into into his chest and under the covers.

 

_ “H-Harry!”  _ Ron yell-whispers, eyes wide and pointing back and forth between the lump on his chest and Harry. Harry rolls his eyes, too relaxed to care. He’d been having  _ such _ a nice nap.

 

“Oh relax, Ron. It’s just a bit of cuddling.” Harry says back, keeping his voice low. One of his hands gently rubbing and kneading the back of Draco’s neck.

 

_ “But why are you cuddling Malfoy?!”  _ Ron whispers again, seemingly conscious about the sleeping boy despite his surprise. It was like he really didn’t fully comprehend what Harry dating Draco meant. Harry hums lightly instead of shrugging. 

 

“Because—“ Harry pauses, mouth open before he grins, feeling a vibration on his chest that was Draco  _ purring. _ “Because,” he starts again. “It’s good stress relief. For both of us.” He says quietly, kneading into his neck more and the purring got louder, cutting Ron off from his reply. 

 

“Is he… is he  _ purring?” _ Harry snickers and nods.

 

“Yup. It’s really calming.” He says, practically falling asleep himself. 

 

Ron seems stupefied, mouth hanging open, eyes blinking. He closes his mouth, finally giving up on arguing. He sighs, shaking his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

 

“Okay. But  _ Merlin. _ ” He sighs again and after some shuffling around, he grabs some things from his side of the room and leaves.

 

Harry hums, falling asleep to the rumble purring vibrating against his chest. 


	19. Chapter 19

After that, it seemed like smooth sailing. 

 

Or, as smooth sailing as it was to be in a dating relationship. 

 

They squabble like any other relationship, they argue, they make up and talk. They have cuddle dates twice weekly and on the occasion when they’re too stressed out from tests, thrice or four times weekly. 

 

Turns out omegas are very needy people. Not in, like, a bad way. But Draco needs cuddles often (which, of course, Harry is more than happy to provide. His alpha side puffs up in pride at providing everything his mate needs), he’s soooo picky tactilely. One time, Harry had worn one of Mrs. Weasley’s hand woven sweaters and Draco  _ refused  _ to hold onto his arm because of the wool (and was it just Harry or was Draco starting to be more moody?). Slightly begrudgingly, Harry had changed the sweater, if only to steal Draco back from Blaise (who was wearing a polyester-cotton blend or whatever the bloody hell it was).

 

“I’m not saying I  _ won’t _ cling to you with something she made.” Draco reasons when Harry brought it up. “I’m not asking her to use  _ cashmere. _ Just.. Something softer would be nice.” Then, softer, “I just.. I can’t handle certain textures.” It just left Harry to wonder if that was an omega thing or if that was a Draco thing. 

 

Bless Mrs. Weasley, though, because after a little letter he had sent her outlining the situation (that was an odd one to write), she had sent back one of the softest creations to date. Even Draco was pleasantly surprised. 

 

“What material is this? It’s like I’m hugging a cloud.” He says, careful to keep the wonder and approval from his voice in case he actually acts like he cares. Draco nuzzles his cheek on his shoulder, inadvertently spreading his scent. 

 

“I’ll tell her you like it.” Draco blanched, lifting his head.

 

“Don’t you dare. My image is already being hit being all cuddly-cuddly with you.”

 

“Then should we stop being all cuddly-cuddly?” Harry asks, if only just to tease but keeping it from his voice. Draco glares at him, lip turned into a pout which Harry thinks is supposed to be a sneer. 

 

“I’ll kill you if you try.” 

 

Harry laughs, pulling him closer to kiss him. Draco’s face calmed, tilting up in that cute way it always does when Harry pulls him into a kiss. Obviously Draco didn’t care  _ that _ much about his image, since he lets Harry be sweet to him in a hallway full of passing students, or how he always wears Harry’s scarf unless he had given it back because his scent was all but gone. 

 

Lunchtime had them skipping to take a nap in Draco’s room (it was closer, Draco reasons, but Harry thinks it’s because he wanted his scent on it). Draco walked easily without guidance in his room, taking off his clothes and setting them on the chair before puffing up the edges of his nest before signaling for Harry to come in. 

 

Settling in, Draco buried them under a few blankets that felt like heaven, which, ridiculously enough, made Harry feel a bit insecure about his own blankets he’d bought. As Draco buries into his side and tangles their legs he wonders,

 

“Do you ever cuddle any other way?”

 

Draco takes a pause from his wiggling to get comfortable to open one eye and aim it up at him. Habit, Harry guesses. 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Not that I’m complaining, but I mean, do you cuddle any other way?” Harry asks again. “Like, spooning, or anything?” Draco seemed to take a moment to think before responding.

 

“This is optimal cuddling position.” Draco decides, setting his cheek back on Harry’s chest. Harry’s hand automatically went to the back of his neck, kneading it lightly. 

 

“Can we try other ways?” Draco raises his head up again to glare-pout. 

 

“Fine. If it means we can nap sooner.” 

 

Harry smiles before flipping them over, laying Draco straight on his back and lays on top, hearing Draco release a breath when he settled over him. Draco’s hand went to the back of his neck as Harry lays his head down. 

 

Although, this position is kinda…

 

“While in some… Instances, this may be nice, you’re  _ crushing _ me.” Draco says with a light laugh as Harry hugs him tighter. “Get  _ off _ you big oaf.” Draco pushed lightly at his shoulders and Harry goes. 

 

“Okay, fine. This wasn’t optimal.” And wasn’t it funny how he started to use Draco’s terminology? “Then spooning.” Draco rolls his eyes and is directed to lay on his side while Harry slips in behind him. Harry slides one arm under his neck, the other curling around Draco as he slots them together, nuzzling at the back of his neck. Draco giggles at the ticklish feeling.

 

“Is this real what you like, having a face-full of hair?” Harry hums and playfully nips the back of his neck. 

 

“It’s comfy.”

 

“Yes, yes, I’m sure a numb arm is very comfy.” He says teasingly and gets another nip on the back of his neck in retaliation. Draco shivered but didn’t complain, wiggling back to get comfy. 

 

After a few minutes of silence in which Harry thought he fell asleep, Draco spoke again,

 

“I don’t like it. My face is cold.” He complains, the pout evidenced in his voice and he turns, nearly bonking his head on Harry’s jaw in his wiggling to burrow his head under Harry’s chin, cold nose pressing against his neck. 

 

“Merlin—“ Harry twitches. “How are you always so cold?”

 

“How are you always so warm?” Draco rebuts, tangling their legs once more. “Never mind, I actually don’t want to know. It’s enough that you’re a space heater.” Draco nudges his face into Harry’s shoulder, closer to the pillow and pulls the blankets further up with a crackle of a purr. 

 

Harry hums, kneading the back of his neck as he listens to Draco’s breathing deepened and level out, body limp in his embrace. He could see the appeal of this, the being surrounded by his date-mate’s scent. He had never thought about it before, mostly because he had only dated a beta who doesn’t have that distinct a smell. But.. it felt like home.

 

* * *

 

Draco hadn’t actually taken up any kind of suppressants, after stopping the dragontail suppressants and schmetterling cream. There hadn’t been any he had been comfortable taking, just in case they exacerbated his symptoms. Madam Pomfrey had suggested he stop all pharmaceuticals until his cycles get back on track. Which was an issue in and of itself that he had been neither ready to face or think about. He hadn’t gotten back on his  _ ‘cycle,’ _ as she so put it, since he stopped his self-medication, which was a month and a half ago. 

 

By this point he wonders if he’s fucked up his biology altogether. Completely and utterly trashed his body that he’s more than likely infertile. Not that he really cared about that, though. He didn’t think he’d ever have or want children, not babies at least. 

 

Where was he going with this?

 

Oh yeah, he’d be happy if he never has a cycle in his life, whatever that means.

 

Draco’s had, at the most, fake heats. Little fever bursts where his face felt flushed and his throat felt sore and he was just altogether pissy and irritated; his joints ached like he was legitimately sick, muscles sore and tummy cramped, causing him to go a couple days without eating simply because the smell of it itself caused him to nearly barf. 

 

It was ridiculous. And if that was what Draco had to deal with during a real heat, he’d gladly go without them.

 

So, Draco didn’t really think much of it when a few times out of the week that second month off the suppressants he feels little heat bursts. And each time he was prissy and agitated and refused to eat and do anything besides sleep except when he forced himself to go to class. It would go and come back, and he was secretly grateful Harry put up with his mood swings because he really didn’t feel in control. 

 

For Merlin’s sake, he nearly  _ bawled _ when someone bumped into him while he was snacking on apples and consequently made him drop them. And right before he could actually shed a tear, he got inexplicably angry and yelled at whoever the bloody fuck it was over it. 

 

Now that it was halfway into the third month and these mood swings had settled to the normal frequency Draco typically has and the up and down fever had passed, Draco was grateful Harry was so phlegmatic and loving. And then he wants to know  _ why, _ and if the way he acts has anything to do with the fact Harry was an alpha and he was an omega. 

 

So, of course, bluntly and straightforwardly as Draco sometimes is, he asks,

 

“So, you don’t care this could just be a phase brought up by our alpha and omega and we’ll wake up someday, realizing this was all a huge mistake?” Draco asks, nudging into his shoulder with his face, frowning lightly.

 

“Well.. Not especially… Hermione said we could be what people call a fated pair.” Draco raised his head, brows furrowed.

 

“A fated  _ what?” _

 

“A fated pair.”

 

“Do you really believe that?” Draco asks, settling his head back down. He shouldn't have used that kind of tone, because when Harry spoke again he seemed fragile, and Draco  _ hated _ that. 

 

“Would it really be that bad if we were..?” Harry trails off. Draco raised his head, ready to tell him off that  _ yes, _ that would be really that bad. But something stopped him and he shut his mouth, pursing his lips as he lay his head back down. Because if he had to lose his place by Harry’s side, and not just in these cuddle sessions, Draco didn't know if he could handle it. 

 

It felt too safe to give up. Too comforting. Draco nudges his nose closer to Harry’s neck, hearing the slight chuckle as his breath tickles his skin and he breathes in, letting the scent of fresh and pine soothe him and his worries. 

 

“No, I guess it wouldn't.” He says softly, relishing in the way his scent deepened with hope and the way the arm around his midline squeezed him just a little closer.  _ No, _ he thinks,  _ that wouldn’t be so bad at all.  _

 

Then he wonders, what would they be doing for the coming winter break? Or what would he be doing. Or what would Harry be doing. He guesses he could just think about it later. After all, they  _ do _ have a few weeks before break.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he woke up Draco felt the prickling heat tingle up his spine and the first thought he had was _fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Enjoy your NSFW, ya nasties._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Jk jk! Love you guys! I appologize in advance because I have no idea how to write smut. But yeah, enjoy this bad writing anyway._
> 
> _Harry’s song for Draco: Hypnotized by Astronomyy_   
>  _Draco’s song for Harry: U Make Me Feel Good by Astronomyy_   
> 

When he woke up Draco felt the prickling heat tingle up his spine and the first thought he had was  _ fuck. _

 

Draco has never had an actual heat before. He had presented late, a week after they came back to school. He was never even hit with a heat. 

 

Blaise had come into their shared room one day and scrunched up his nose a little, brows furrowed. 

 

“Draco?” He had asked and Draco raised a brow from where he was sitting on his bed. “Why do you smell so…  _ sweet?” _

 

And that was the end of that. 

 

Draco flipped, and then made Blaise pretty much scent him for an hour before they came to a conclusion: Draco was an omega. 

 

With a curse, Draco went to the library and did all the research and found how to make Dragontail suppressants and Schmetterling Scream.

 

After that, the only times he’s ever felt anything like a heat was a flicker of odd warmth in his belly, aches in his limbs. But  _ nothing _ like what he’d read about.

 

Until now.

 

And somehow, he just  _ knew _ that he wouldn’t be able to handle it alone. Even though he did try to tough it out for the first two hours, dealing with the feeling of utter arousal and frustration and that dampness between his legs and  _ ugh, _ Harry fucking Potter’s  _ scent _ on his pillow because he just  _ had _ to steal a pillow for the night, didn’t he? 

 

“Draco?” Blaise came into the room, raising a brow at him still burrowed under his blankets. “It’s mid-afternoon, don’t you think it’s time to get up?” 

 

Draco groans, close enough to a whine that it got Blaise’s attention. Blaise stopped halfway to him, nose twitching before he covers it. 

 

“Are you..?”

 

Draco huffs and nods, peeking out from the sheets.

 

“Yeah…” Draco huffs again, feeling stuffy even without the blankets, sick without being sick. He could still breathe fine, but the heat under his skin made him feel suffocated. Blaise pauses, pursing his lips.

 

“Do you need me to leave you alone, or..?”  _ Or do you want to go to Potter?  _ Was left unspoken and Draco groaned at the prospect, burying his face in the damn pillow which only made it  _ worse. _ His body wasn’t listening and just the  _ idea _ of going to Harry’s room made him tremble. 

 

_ Merlin. _ That sounded like a fucking bloody  _ fantastic  _ idea.

 

“Please,” he tries to sit up, limbs shaky. Blaise made a choking nose, pupils blown.

 

“Fuck, Draco.” He held his breath as Draco’s scent settled like a thick blanket of snow in the room. Blaise went to grab a scarf and tied it around his own nose and mouth. “It’s a good thing most everyone is at Hogsmeade right now. Merlin.. wrap that around you. We can’t have you walking around smelling like a fresh fuck.” 

 

Draco whines at that. It was so.. so  _ raunchy  _ to be called that, but he kind of gets it. Draco didn’t bother trying to put on extra clothes and wrapped the thick blanket around him, covering up to his neck. He doesn’t know how the hell he would hold onto Blaise as they walk but.. well, he wasn’t really thinking. 

 

“Good. That’s a bit better.” Blaise was right next to him, and in the next second Draco yelps at suddenly being picked up bridal style. Draco made a noise that was simply  _ omega _ and he shuddered. “It’ll be faster this way.” Draco huffs, shoving his nose into Blaise’s neck, letting his scent calm him (but it wasn’t the scent he  _ wanted,  _ his omega said).

 

Blaise practically ran to the Gryffindor dorms, thankfully no one was around to see him arguing with the Fat Lady to let him in. 

 

_ “I’ll just put Draco in Potter’s room, okay?”  _ Blaise huffed.

 

But after, Draco mindlessly pointed (metaphorically) to Harry’s room. Once there, Blaise set him on his feet next to the bed and Draco dropped the blanket around him to crawl into the bed and  _ trilled _ as Harry’s scent enveloped him. 

 

Blaise watched him for a moment before writing a note to stick onto the outside of the door and sent a letter to Harry via owl. He stuck around for another few minutes, watching Draco scuttle and pat down the bed and move everything into place.

 

“Need anything else?”

 

* * *

God. Blaise had been gone for some time now, hasn’t he? He means, really, how long does it take to head back to the Slytherin dorms and grab a damn pillow? He didn’t really need Blaise’s pillow, but he just had this  _ urge _ to have it in his nest, since Blaise was his best friend and it didn’t cross lines, okay? He’s heard of omegas stockpiling family’s clothing in their nest for comfort. 

 

Even if that was typically done with relatives, but whatever. 

 

Maybe he just needed a small medium to keep his head, considering Harry’s scent was filling his lungs and soaking into his pores. Sure, there was a few scant other scents about the room (Ron’s, a beta, and Neville’s. And though he was an alpha, his scent was pretty mild), but nothing to really distract him from the all encompassing burn. 

 

Draco lets out a whimper, filled with longing and desperation, because he’s willingly suffocating himself under the blankets and he was still  _ clothed _ and they needed to come off pronto. Harry probably wouldn’t mind, right? Most people consider their boyfriend of girlfriend waiting naked in their bed a godsend anyway, right? Right. 

 

Draco takes a breath, squirming because he couldn’t sit still and he sits up, frustrated with the heat and the full-body itch he felt, desire and need sending him on an emotional rollercoaster. He pulls off his shirt, not bothering with the buttons and sighs as the cool air hits his skin. He hesitated a brief moment when his hands reached his shorts until another wave made his body wracked with a shudder and then they were quickly pulled off the thrown to the floor.

 

Burrowing back into the sheets, Draco let out a sigh. The cool sheets felt  _ heavenly  _  against his overheated skin. They were a certain type of fabric he’d come to learn about and had goaded Harry into buying them as well (having a rich boyfriend is  _ fantastic). _ They’re soft, and cool, and temperature controlled and  _ stretchy.  _ But shedding his clothes brought minimal relief and he curls up on his side, arm cradled by his legs for comfort and the other massaging into his thigh to serve both as a relief from the muscle cramps and distraction from his very obvious need. 

 

Draco was glad to be here, at least, surrounded by a wall of Harry’s scent that just made him feel  _ safe. _ Though, he doesn’t really know how Harry would take it. They didn’t even talk about this stuff; heats and ruts and what they would do. Draco was too reserved and Harry was too polite and they hadn’t done anything past cuddle buddies and the occasional kiss and make-out, though he does remember Harry had broken up with Ginny sometime in the past months (Harry’s good-guy complex wouldn’t let him go after Draco while still dating someone). 

 

Draco couldn’t have stopped himself from coming here if he had tried (which he really didn’t but who cares), and now he was surrounded in Harry’s scent, almost drowning in it. It was making his legs turn to jello and a far more pleasant heat pooled in his belly at the thought of him coming back here. 

 

He felt like he  _ desperately  _ needed something,  _ anything, _ a touch, a kiss, or—  _ something _ . Preferably, his body told him as he whines as the slick spread on his thighs,  _ someone _ between his thighs he could crush. 

 

Draco was inexplicably horny, but he daren’t touch himself. He didn’t often participate in such…  _ debauchery _ during normal times, and he’d rather not do it until he was literally unable to stop himself from touching. Honestly, he’d rather have Harry take the decisions from him and do whatever he needed to, because beyond that arousal, lay fear and trepidation. 

 

It’s his first heat, for one, and two, well… this would be his  _ first time  _ or whatever. 

 

Hey now, just because he’s gorgeous and comes from a family with wealth and standing, doesn’t mean everyone was flocking to get his attention. Not that he was seeking attention unless it was that of Harry Potter, anyway. He just never got around to it, never really got interested in it.

 

Draco whimpers, burrowing into one of Harry’s pillows, inhaling desperately and squirming for just a little friction. 

 

_ Gods. _ This was gonna get bad  _ really _ fast if Harry didn’t come through those doors in the next half hour.

 

* * *

Harry practically  _ ran _ back to Hogwarts after getting a letter from  _ Blaise  _ of all people. It was simple, and his heart nearly stopped.

 

_ Urgent: come to your room ASAP. Draco needs help. _

 

_ -Blaise _

 

Except, when he got to the portrait, Blaise was already there, leaning back against the railing with a pillow and scarf in his arms.

 

“Potter.” He nods and Harry nods back, confused.

 

“Uhm what—“

 

“She won’t let me back inside again.” Blaise shoves the pillow and scarf into his hands and Harry holds it, making a slight face when Blaise’s scent reaches his nose. “Draco’s in your room. I suggest you go there now, lock the door and put on a silencing charm.” He says, leaving without preamble or explanation. Confused, Harry had no choice but to make his way back up to his dorm. 

 

When he opened the door he froze as Draco’s cloying scent settled heavy in his lungs. 

 

_ What the— _

 

It was the same as ever, just thicker,  _ sweeter, _ and if he had to say, it prickled under his skin and shot down to his groin and oh  _ fuck.  _ Harry practically slammed the door closed behind him, muttering quick magical locks and silencing charms on the room. Draco jumps a bit at the slam and he poked his head out from under the blankets, hair a mess, milky eyes hazy and unfocused. 

 

“Blaise?” Harry steps up, depositing the pillow and scarf by his head.  _ “Harry.”  _ Draco nearly whines, patting the pillow and shoving it in its own corner without much deliberation or thought. The pillow can wait. He’s got the real deal in front of him, after all.  _ Gods above,  _ the scent was  _ much _ better coming from the source.

 

“Draco,” Draco hears him rasp out and as Draco sat up, letting the suffocating blankets pool at his waist and taking a little reprieve at the cool air that met his skin. Draco could only make small, distressed noises, unable to stop himself from being needy; it was a call to his alpha, a wordless plea for help. And it better fucking work. Draco took deep open-mouth breaths, feeling lightheaded and breathless all at once. The heat was insatiable, and he was feeling desperate, what with Draco  _ refusing  _ to touch himself.  _ “Draco,” _ and  _ mmmm _ does Harry’s voice, stretched thin like he’s trying to maintain his mind, sound sweet against his ears. “Are you, um… in heat?” 

 

Draco stamped down the urge to snap back, he didn’t wanna drive away Harry just because he was feeling particularly bitchy and needy.  _ Especially _ when he was feeling needy. Instead, he huffs a breath, feeling like his body was producing its own sauna. Besides the slick, though, he wasn’t overly sweaty or clammy, which was a weird juxtaposition in and of itself. Couldn’t his body like,  _ pick one?  _ Why did he have to feel these contradictory things? Well, Mrs. Pomfrey  _ did _ warn him his heat would be intense, what with it being the first one and crap, and needing to work out the last of the suppressants or something. 

 

“Oh.” Harry says after Draco nods to his question, both taking  _ way _ longer than needed to answer them, in Draco’s opinion. His fingers twitched and gripped the sheets, itching to grab hold of Harry and pull him down into his nest like a spider to its mate. Minus him eating his mate’s head after mating, of course.  _ Merlin, _ what is this heat doing to his typically sound mind? Harry’s body temperature typically ran hot, but  _ gods,  _ will those hot hands feel like a cool balm on his skin right now. “Uh. Should I.. leave?” 

 

_ “Stay.” _ Draco whines, pathetically and without restraint, wanting Harry to just  _ get it  _ and climb into bed. And the only thing Draco can smell besides his own heat scent that lets him know Harry is only asking that out of courtesy is the alpha pheromone filling his senses telling him  _ exactly _ how interested Harry is. 

 

On the other hand, Harry could barely keep himself in check, because  _ holy mother of Merlin, _ this was unlike  _ anything _ he had ever smelled, experienced, or had the pleasure to be around. Draco’s scent settled heavy in his lungs, filing them like water and it made his own skin prickle like firecrackers, shooting straight arousal to his groin. 

 

And of course, when Draco sat up his vision swam for a handful of seconds and his mind came to a screeching halt at the expanse of skin that became exposed. Harry couldn’t help it— he could feel his mouth water from that display, intentional or not. His eyes trailed down the elegan neck, down over the faint scars on his chest, guilt barely registered in his mind as his eyes drank in the sight, following the path down the sternum to his navel, brain short circuiting once more when a pale hip peeks out from beneath the blankets. 

 

_ Draco is naked in my bed. _

 

Holy fuck.  _ Holy almighty fuck. Draco is naked in his bed! _

 

_ “Harry.” _ Draco sighs his name, echoing in his ear and hypnotizing him further. The flush of his skin; his cheeks, down his neck, Harry wonders where else he could be flushed.  _ You don’t have to wonder for long, _ his alpha taunts, promising him he wouldn’t be left bereft, and Harry swallows heavily. The scent around him got heavier and headier and the desperate voice shot straight to his dick.

 

When Harry didn’t make a move, Draco whines again and reaches to grab at him. His fingers, though his body radiated heat, were  _ cold. _ And Harry jumps at the touch, but he does it to lean closer to feel them. His mouth watered, unsure of what to do himself while his alpha told him to  _ mate, mark, claim. _

 

After another desperate whimper and the thickening scent, Harry lurched forward and kissed him. Draco moaned, letting Harry lick into his mouth as he slid a hand into those black, messy locks and holds tight as he falls back, unable to keep himself seated with the sheer  _ want _ running through him at having Harry so close. 

 

Harry pulls back, Draco protesting until he hears the ruffle of clothes and he lets his body fall limp onto the bed, a rumble starting in his chest at the prospect of what comes next, whatever  _ that _ was. 

 

Harry strips quickly enough, clumsily shucking off his pants and underwear and turning to the bed to eye Draco— relaxed and open on the bed, legs rubbing against each other under the blanket— and he freezes, a single thought coming through.

 

_ Does Draco even know what he’s doing? _

 

“Um, Draco?” Harry asks even though he was naked and his cock was  _ fricken hard. _ “A-are you sure?”

 

Draco whimpers, pushing himself up to lean back against his arms, feeling like he  _ had _ to say this because, is Harry for real?!

 

“If I didn’t want to be here, don’t you think I would’ve stayed in  _ my _ room? On the  _ other side of Hogwarts?!”  _ He says heatedly, panting as he falls back, faintly regretting spending energy on that outburst. And okay, he had a point. 

 

But they hadn’t talked about anything like this and he just had some  _ reservations _ about this. 

 

However, he also can’t say no to a sweet-smelling, practically  _ begging _ Draco that crawled into his bed  _ naked  _ and was now splayed out like a buffet just for him,  _ sooo. _

 

Excuse Harry while he ignores his typical  _ ask questions first, get into bed later _ style of love-making. Harry got on the bed under the blankets, feeling Draco’s accumulated heat and heart thudding at the intensity of it. He sees goosebumps prickle Draco’s skin when he was fully exposed to the air, but nevertheless, the heat seemed unbearable.

 

_ How was he not trying to crawl out of his skin? _

 

Draco’s legs fell apart once they’ve felt Harry dip into the mattress, sighing once he finally got at least a  _ fraction  _ of what he needed. 

 

Harry glides one hand up his thigh, over his hips, and up his chest while he kisses him deeply again. Feeling him up just because. Draco’s hands went back to Harry’s hair, gripping tight and moaning into his mouth between his panting, unable to figure if he should try and breathe or keep kissing. Draco’s nails bit into his scalp like Harry would even  _ think _ of escaping. It was pretty adorable. 

 

When Harry pulled back, Draco let out a cry of distress.

 

“Wait, I have to get the lube..” Harry pants, though he didn’t want to get out either. Draco groaned in frustration, keeping him still. Though, to be fair, Harry wasn’t even trying to escape his clutches to get said instrument. 

 

“We don’t  _ need _ any..” Draco mumbled, practically pouting. Harry makes a questionable sound and Draco seemed even more embarrassed, face flushing a different kind of red that had nothing to do with his heat as he takes one of his hands and feels around for Harry’s. He drags Harry’s hand down the length of his body, bypassing his need  _ (god _ that looked like it hurt), and settled his fingers between those milky thighs.

 

Harry blinks, dragging his fingers in the wetness there and brushing past his entrance, making Draco cry out and tremble. He brings up his hand to observe the clear substance, finding it sticky, yet smooth. And without a thought, he plopped then into his mouth and promptly  _ groaned. _

 

Draco trembled under him as he savored the taste. Sweet and hot and sending his nerves on  _ fire. _

 

Oh yeah, they  _ definitely _ won’t need any lube. 

 

“It’s slick..” Draco huffs out, pulling Harry to kiss because he’d been gone too long, too far gone to really think about how probably disgusting it was to taste himself on Harry’s tongue. 

 

“It is,” 

 

“No, it’s  _ called _ slick..” Draco explains, embarrassed. “And uhm.. c-can you… this is gonna be my first time..” 

 

“First time for..?” Harry prods, not really connecting the dots. 

 

_ “Anything.” _ Draco murmurs out and Harry’s brain stops to a monetary halt. “J-just.. be gentle, please?” And it wasn’t like Draco  _ cared _ about first times and sex how other people put importance on it, but like, hey, he knows he’ll be a wreck during and after his heat, but he’d rather not be like.. well.. You know what? Never mind. Draco will settle for being completely wrecked, not like his mind will tell him to stop as he feels the edges of his sanity and trepidation and hesitancy and everything else burn away like fire burns at paper, leaving only Harry and his presence and the wonderful way his hips were wide to demanded space between Draco’s thighs. 

 

Harry dove back into the kiss with renewed vigor, finally pressing his body down on Draco’s to give him  _ some _ relief, though he didn’t really know what good his heated body would help Draco. But Draco just moaned and bucked against him, even if more reserved about it. Harry broke the kiss to kiss down his neck, licking and sucking harshly on his skin,  _ especially _ on the scent glands, cause Draco to cry out  _ loudly _ , back arching. 

 

Harry didn’t stop, though, even when he felt the stickiness coating his stomach from Draco’s release. Draco’s chest heaved with his harsh breathes as Harry lapped at his nipples, peaking them up to pretty pink-bitten peaks. 

 

Drunk off the scent and hazed by his own arousal, Harry makes quick work of one hand to slide between Draco’s legs again, swirling in circles just  _ near _ his twitching virgin hole. Draco cries out, whole body trembling in anticipation as his cock springs to life again. Harry kisses him deeply, distracting him with the kiss as he slides a finger in.

 

Draco’s back bows  _ beautifully. _ He’s panting harshly, like there wasn’t enough oxygen, and Harry groans at the tight wet heat enveloping his finger. 

 

_ “Merlin.” _ Harry hisses, needing to take all his concentration at keeping gentle thrusts when all he really wanted was to ram into him.  _ Christ _ , his own ruts were never this intense. When Draco was practically begging for more, little unconscious whimpers, giving sharp nips at his neck and ear, Harry added another finger and spread them, curled them, did near  _ everything _ until Draco was coming again. Harry felt his grip on himself slip by when he added a third finger, Draco’s body finding no rest as he works him open. 

 

For a moment, Harry feels overwhelmed by  _ gratitude, _ of all things. That Draco would be granting him not only sharing his heat, but also being his first. 

 

Harry pulls back from the kiss, groaning when he realized Draco only continued to leak slick the more his fingers worked him open. He might even have to buy a new  _ mattress. _ But fuck it all for now. 

 

“I got you,” Harry parrots the words he said when he first led a newly blind Draco to the infirmary as he lines himself up and with great self control, pushes in the tip.

 

Draco’s body trembled non-stop, his nails caught in his scalp and shoulder. Harry moaned, finally feeling that pressure on his dick. Despite his coiled muscles he took it agonizingly slow, kissing Draco through his whimpers and half-pleases for something he didn’t even know what.

 

By the time he was seated balls-deep inside him, Harry was panting with the exertion of keeping it slow. Both of them sharing their labored breaths, eating up each other’s scent and somehow it made it all the hotter when Harry finally decided to freakin’  _ move. _

 

He pulled out, and then slid back in like a well fitted sword in a sheath. Draco’s breath caught as he moaned and it was adorable, body curled around Harry’s; legs around his waist bruisingly tight, arms around his neck to keep him close, pressing open-mouthed kisses and half-hearted bites on his neck. Draco’s thighs flexed and strained with the effort, and Harry sped up once he felt Draco flex around him, felt his hips roll by themselves. 

 

Baser instincts rose up, not quite completely overtaking his control, but enough that he didn’t have to actively think about how to make Draco feel good. His hips pistoned when Draco’s breath staccatoed, pulled out and pressed back in with languid strokes to give Draco time to breath after release. Harry pressed kisses, sucking bruises onto that pale neck that was all  _ his,  _ spreading his own scent into the epidermis of his skin like there was even the slightest chance that everyone wouldn’t know they’ve coupled (but his alpha wasn’t gonna leave that to chance).

 

Harry was actually amazed he lasted as long as he did (though he wasn't the greatest judge of time right now), but when he finally fucked in the last couple inches of his bulging knot into Draco’s willing, pliant, soft, fucking  _ delicious _ body, he growled possessively into his neck, stopping short of actually breaking skin to mate them indefinitely. Draco’s cry echoed in his ear and his body  _ trembled, _ nails scratching streaks along his shoulder, pulsing around him like Draco’s body was urging him to give all his seed (and in a time where he was level-headed, Harry would be worried about the repercussions of not wearing a condom. But be that as it may, he could scarcely give a fraction of a thought to that situation). 

 

Draco’s chest rumbled with a purr, a constant, steady vibration against Harry’s chest. His legs relaxed and fell to either sides of Harry, his body losing its rigidity. Harry watches in awe, kissing Draco sweetly until he felt him slacken with sleep and Harry pressed kisses to his cheeks, his brow, to the spot just under his ear where that heat scent was  _ still  _ coming in thick waves. Even as Draco sleeps, his chest crackled with a purr, stilted and random. Harry presses yet another kiss to just under his ear because he could, feeling the heat of Draco’s body lessen just a fraction. Though with the intense, thick scent, they were  _ far _ from done.

 

* * *

 

Heat made Draco less shy. His body knew what it wanted: to be fucked into oblivion and beyond, and after the first hour of being fucked, Draco’s hesitancy about any of it was nonexistent. Harry took care of him very nicely. Even when Draco doesn’t really remember moments of intensity, completely engulfed in his heat-craze as he was, he knew Harry would treat him right and take care of him. 

 

Past the heat, his he felt a  _ zing _ along his skin, leaving him in continuous post-orgasmic bliss 100% of the time and it felt like a constant. So when he realized he was on his knees, Harry’s hands smoothing down his lower spine, and with every thrust there was a cowing pressure on his prostate, he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. Harry could have him any and every way he wanted, so long as he kept on doing what he was doing. 

 

Draco was nearly bend double, chest pressed into the mattress close to his knees, and he briefly wonders, through the heat and fuzziness, when the hell he got so flexible. But then Harry was pushing back into him with a growl and he just feels so  _ full  _ and content that he thanks his lucky stars his body was made to be taken. His throat was probably going to be sore from all the noises he was making, and he probably wouldn’t be able to move afterwards, but that’s a problem for future Draco. 

 

Harry’s body bows over his, grinding into him. His hands move from pressing his middle down to grope at his highs, his chest, and before Draco knew it, he was lifted from his bended position. Harry’s hot breath fanned along his neck, his growl sending shivers of anticipation down his spine and Draco tilted his head to the side to give him more room.

 

At the same time he felt heat bloom within him, burning hotter than his heat, he felt the stark contrast of pain blossom in his shoulder and he cried out, making a mess of the bed with his release. Harry’s jaw locked onto the juncture of his neck and shoulder and come time when his heat subsides, Draco will be grateful it happened at the height of his heat, because the pain was  _ immense _ and he’d never read any kind of book that talked about the pain of a mate mark and the venom soaking deep into his skin to make sure it scars and takes. 

 

Draco could feel the little dribbles of blood bubbling and escaping the puncture wounds around Harry’s teeth; feels them rolls over his collar bones and drip off his chest, no doubt ruining the sheets he likes so much further. Harry keeps his growl to a minimum and it vibrates against Draco’s back pleasantly, a possessive hand coming to rest at his distended belly, swollen with seed. Draco doesn’t think Harry would take kindly to being grabbed by his hair at the moment, so Draco settles for putting a hand over Harry’s on his stomach, panting harshly to catch his breath. He couldn’t help it in the end, when Harry  _ still _ hadn’t let go of his neck, Draco reached his free hand up, fingers skimming along Harry’s neck to cup the back of it, tugging him ever closer. 

 

Being blind had its benefits, though, as it heightened Draco’s awareness of touch and sound and smell tenfold, leaving his mind that much blown throughout their coupling. When Harry’s jaw finally unhinges and Draco feels those teeth pull from the groves in his skin, he whines but keeps him close. Harry’s tongue comes to wipe at the wound, cleaning up the blood with gentle licks once he moves them to their sides, Draco only minimally complaining non-verbally about being tugged around until they’ve settled. More licks to his neck, a rumble against his back, and Draco couldn’t help but purr back in contentment as the fringes of his mind dissipate. 

 

* * *

 

Draco sucks in a soft breath as he feels Harry’s hands trace the wound on his shoulder. It hurt, not by that much, but Harry seemed hesitant about it, which is understandable. They hadn’t really talked about it, and it wasn’t like they could go up and break the bond without either of them dying or something equally as over-the-top. It had just been.. in the moment. It seemed  _ right. _ Harry was quiet for another moment, fingertips tracing between the ring of teeth marks.

 

“... I—“

 

“Don’t.” Draco cuts him off. He’d rather not have him apologizing, like it was an  _ accident  _ when Harry had been actively pursuing him for a relationship. They were both laying on their sides, Harry probably suffocating under the mounds of blankets Draco had them under; the tail-end of his heat had seen to it to rob him of all internal warmth, it seemed. Heads on the pillow, Blaise’s pillow, funny enough (he’ll have to gift Blaise with a bloody fantastic new pillow), facing each other, and he just knew Harry was staring at him with this look of  _ something.  _ Something like not quite regret, not pity, but nevertheless worried Draco would blow up at the decision that was made at the height of his heat, when they were both too high off hormones to think properly. 

 

Harry’s fingers still on his neck, holding his breath and Draco sighs, raising a hand to his neck, trapping Harry’s hand against his neck as it tried to retreat and even though it kind of hurt, he felt he needed to do it. It stung, more from the sweat on Harry’s palm than the pressure on the wound. Harry’s hand stills, fingers twitching against his skin and holding his breath. 

 

But Draco didn’t really do anything besides hold Harry’s hand there, feeling the sting and tug on the punctures. A stirring of his soul, at peace; like a bridge had been forged between himself and Harry, and he wonders if Harry could feel it too. The myths he read said a bond could let them know what each other is feeling, if they were in danger, and how to find them. And maybe Harry couldn’t feel it because Draco hadn’t marked him back. That was okay, too, Draco could bite him next heat, or Harry’s next rut. 

 

Draco opens his eyes; a useless but habitual movement. 

 

“If I had to choose between you and some random alpha Father chose from inside Azkaban, I’d choose you anyway.” Draco closes his eyes again, relishing in the light pain in his shoulder from Harry putting pressure on  _ just so. _ Draco opens his eyes again, because by now he knows Harry likes them, creepy-looking and all. “I’m glad it was you.” 

 

The next thing he knows is Harry’s lips were on his; gentle and loving as he always is, but still no less passionate than they had been tangled up hours before. By Merlin, he was sure they needed to burn this room to ashes, Draco’s scent was  _ everywhere. _

 

But because Draco was Draco, and he couldn’t just leave it at that, he said, as Harry pulled back,

 

“If you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it and tell everyone you were on magic shrooms.”

 

Harry laughs, kissing him again. He was, not oddly enough, quite alright with that. He was far from okay to keep this side of Draco to himself, he was ecstatic. No one else really needed to know how sweet he can be but Harry, and that was fine by him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Practice safe sex guys._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _One more chapptteeerrrr to goooooo!_


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry it took so long! But, um, enjoy!_

Unapologetically, Harry kept commandeer of the room for another few days after Draco’s heat subsided, if only to let Draco rest in the comfort of their nest (after everything had been thoroughly washed. Thrice), seeming to sleep deeply and slowly as if he hadn’t slept in days (which really, they both hadn’t). Harry stayed awake to take care of his whims whenever he did awaken: get him a cup of water to drink, feed him some cut fruit, and as quietly as he could, set about deep-cleaning the room (of which his roommates would be rather grateful, but honestly they are far more grateful that Harry will buy them a new set of sheets and blankets because  _ Merlin, _ Draco’s scent is  _ stubborn). _

 

Draco grumbles from the nest to get his attention, eyes narrowed at nothing and body curled into a ball. Harry sets down the sheet he was folding, stepping to the bed.

 

“What is it?” He asks, quickly running through his mind what Draco could possibly need. They’ve a few food items in there, they’ve got the water bottles. They’ve got the freshly laundered sheets and Draco and he took a bath the night before, so they’re definitely  _ clean. _ Draco grumbles, pulling the blanket closer to himself and Harry leaned in closer. “What was that?”

 

Draco huffs, pulling the blanket down from over his mouth. “I  _ said, _ I’m  _ freezing.”  _

 

“Do you want another blanket?” Because they have those. Fresh ones. Not that the cleaning had taken much of their scent off, but at least it got rid of the sex-stank. Draco rolls his eyes like  _ wow, this fool is dense. _

 

“Stop bloody cleaning and cuddle me.” He demands, pouting and glaring, but his haughtiness is dampened by the request and Harry smiles, leaning down to kiss his head. Harry slips under the blankets quickly and Draco glues himself to his side. Cold hands wormed their way up under Harry’s shirt and he jumps.

 

“Circe’s tits, Draco!” Because  _ holy hell _ were they  _ freezing. _ “I should get some more blankets. Is this normal?” Harry asks, worried, rubbing Draco’s chilled arm before making a move to get those extra blankets. Draco’s nails dig into his chest where he had his hand settled and Harry twitched, freezing in his attempts to move at the unspoken command to stay still.

 

“If you’re here, it’s fine.” Draco says, laying his head on Harry’s chest and taking a deep, sighing breath. “And hell if I know.” Draco wiggles closer and after a while his hands stops being  _ freezing.  _

 

“Are you hungry?” 

 

“Not really.” Draco mumbles, sleep starting to creep up on him some more. This would be the second day Draco’s just basically sleeping and leeching off his heat. Either of which Harry was fine with, but like, now he’s kind of getting worried. The little they know about omegas from classes barely touched upon post-heat information and it wasn’t like Harry could  _ leave  _ and ask Hermione to look into it. Sending an owl is also out of the question, since it is very much winter and snowing outside and he worried Draco might actually freeze if he opened the window even for a second.

 

Was sleeping this much normal after a heat? Or eating this little? He supposed it could be that Draco was just so utterly exhausted and his heat ran out. Quite literally. Harry was pretty exhausted himself, but he wasn’t the one getting the dicking, and he got pretty rough at the peak of his heat. Harry pets the back of his neck lightly, listening to the soft breaths that fan over his chest as Draco snoozes away. His fingers catch the puncture marks every now and then but Draco doesn’t wake. Maybe Harry should’ve stripped before getting in…

 

Harry sighs. Too late now. Draco was like a sleeping cat, and everyone knows the unspoken rule about cats sleeping on you. With another breath, Harry gave in to the idea of just lazing about for a while and closed his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Draco slept for nearly another six hours before finally stirring. Harry glances down at him, haven been awake for at least three of those hours, body itching to move and stretch. Cat paralysis is no joke, okay? 

 

“Alright?” 

 

Draco raises his eyes to Harry’s voice and goes about to sit up, making a face at the sting in his hips. The blanket falls to his lap and Harry drinks in the sight of pale skin marred by bruises and kiss marks. He shivered once the cold air graced his skin, nipples perking up at the cold but Draco didn’t seem to be in a hurry to burrow back into the heat. 

 

“Hungry.” He grumbles, eyes looking around habitually, a hand on his stomach and rubbing the flesh. Harry sat up, leaning back on his arms. 

 

“What’re you hungry for?” After about a moment of silence, Draco slides back down to the bed, pulling the blanket over himself again. 

 

“Something sweet.”

 

“Honey bread?” Harry thinks he saw that in the corner somewhere. Probably Ron’s, or something. Draco seemed to think it over.

 

“Something else.” Harry stopped himself from sighing. It was a lot easier to understand Draco’s needs during heat, when they were both going off of baser instincts and were in-tune. With Draco’s normal consciousness returning, he was a little harder to guess at, all that Slytherin air slipping back into place. Harry thinks what other thing he could have possibly grabbed the one hour he actually left the room.

 

“Apples?” Draco’s eyes shifted to him.  _ Aha. _ “Green ones?” Draco hums in acquiescence and Harry felt some pride, getting up out of bed to get the apple he stored away. He cuts it with magic and when he comes back to the bed with the little plate, Draco was sitting back up. The blankets pool back at his waist and Harry wondered if Draco even realized he was still naked. He seemed pretty at home about it, though. It would have been a bit weird if he’d gotten shy after all they’ve done.

 

Instead of raising his hand for the apples to be put in them, Draco drops his jaw in expectation. Harry swallows, sitting on the bed and feeding him the pieces. After eating his fill, Draco lay back down, arm under the pillow propping up his head. 

 

“What day is it?” He asks after a few moments of silence. Harry paused, setting the pate with uneaten apple slices back on the nightstand. He thought about it. It had been Saturday when Draco’s heat started and most of the days and nights blurred together… 

 

“It’s Wednesday, I think.. I haven’t really gone out to check.” Draco hums absentmindedly. “Still want to sleep?” 

 

“... No.” Draco sighs. “I feel like I’ve slept for a whole week.” He groans as he sits up. He doesn’t seem to be conscious on his nakedness, fingers tracing the puncture wounds on his neck. 

 

“U-uhm.. Did you want clothes?”

 

“Clothes?” Draco blinked slowly, looking down and patting his hands down his body. “Right. Clothes exist.” He waits another moment, nail scratching at his hip. “Normal people wear clothes.” Another pause. “I don’t have any clothes here.” He sighs, flopping back onto the bed. 

 

“Well, you have the clothes you came in with, but they aren’t really for going out.” Harry had taken the time to get those laundered, too. He thinks for a moment—  _ “Oh!” _ How could he have forgotten? “I do have some of your clothes. From the sleepovers.” 

 

_ Right. _ Those days Draco stole clothes every chance he could. A sweater here, a shirt there, leaving his own strewn about the room. Draco seemed to think deeply about it before he stretched out across the bed like a cat, giving a satisfying sigh when he hears some pops.

 

“Clothes are for squares.” He hums, parting across the bed until he found Harry’s knee. He follows the line of his body up, pouting at the cloth he found obstructing the touch of his skin. “You should get rid of yours and cuddle me.”

 

Harry flushed at the boldness of his speech. “Y-Yeah.” He agrees easily, taking little time to pull off his clothes and slip back into bed. Draco clung to him, humming happily at the feel of skin-on-skin and he tangles their legs together. Still, Draco’s slim fingers walked across his chest lazily, making tracks along his skin, full of secret intent.

 

_ Should  _ Harry read between the lines of his actions? Draco turns his head, nosing at his neck before pressing a kiss there. 

 

The correct answer?  _ Yes. _

 

Harry’s own hand that rested long Draco’s hip began to wander up and down the expanse of his back, each time daring to venture lower until he was able to grab a handful of Draco’s perky ass. Draco groans, nipping a little too harshly at the skin he was sucking on and Harry takes the next moment to flip them over. Draco’s legs fall open like it was second nature, his fingers mapping Harry’s neck and face, pulling him into a kiss. 

 

When they part, it was so Harry could press open-mouthed kisses along Draco’s neck, deciding he could do with a bit more hickeys for his collection. Draco purrs into his shoulder just before he pressed kisses along his neck leading back to his lips. Harry takes the time to deepen the kiss, eating up the moan Draco let out as Draco’s fingers threaded through his hair. 

 

Draco’s scent blossomed. Just as sweet and tender, eliciting a primal urge to care for the omega under him instead of the unrivaled need to fuck him senseless. If that urge included spoiling his mate with sex, so be it. 

 

Harry breaks the kiss to trail his lips down Draco’s neck, nosing down his chest as Draco caught his breath. The press of a half-hard cock pressing on his lower belly giving him ideas about just how to spoil him. Harry smiles against his skin, kissing right between his beast bone, gently and chaste. 

 

“Want me to give you something special?” 

 

“Special?” Draco asks, twirling Harry’s locks between his fingers idly as he relaxes back against his nest. Harry hums, pressing a kiss just below his sternum as he scoots down, Draco gave a slight groan as friction graces his cock. 

 

“Mhmm. You’ll like it. Promise.” The fact that he’s never done it before didn’t really matter. Harry scoots down further, nosing at the cute bellybutton of his lover and feeling the stirrings of his erection harder against his chest. Draco’s breath left him in a huff at the ticklish sensation of Harry’s breath against his stomach and in the next kiss to his hip, it left in a gasp of anticipation. 

 

“Mmmm..” Draco hums, breath shortening. 

 

“Yeah?” Harry teases, breath ghosting against his hip. 

 

“Yeah.” Draco says breathlessly, fingers gripping tighter at his hair as Harry’s breath rolled over the base of his erection. Harry hums in acquiesce as he presses tender kisses up the column of flesh, watching Draco intently for his reactions as he took him into his mouth. Something he hadn’t been able to do the first time around, on account of their instincts. Draco’s back bows beautifully, head tilting back into the pillows in an erotic display. Draco’s hips rock into his mouth and he allows it to a certain extent, controlling the bucking of his hips with his hands. 

 

Harry brought Draco to ecstasy like this, teasing out moans and explicatives with licks of his tongue until Draco was breathless and putty in his hands, catching his breath after release. Harry kisses at his hip bones, watching his chest dip with his breath, eyes glossy with that post-orgasmic haze. 

 

Slowly, Harry made his way back up his body, pressing gently kisses all over. It was only when Harry reached his neck, snuffling at his scent glands that Draco finally recovered. 

 

“I did like that.” He purrs, pressing Harry’s face into his neck when his lips skimmed over the mate mark. 

 

Which was to say, he  _ really _ liked that. 

 

“I’ll have to return the favor someday.” Harry grins against his skin, grazing his teeth along the still-healing wound causing Draco to shiver and let out a breathy sigh. 

 

“So, we essentially just did a sixty-eight?” Draco raises a brow.

 

“A sixty-eight?

 

“Yeah. So you owe me one.” Harry grins to himself, waiting for Draco’s to get it. It took a little longer than it usually would. But when it finally dawned on him he gasped and shoved Harry’s head, unable to hide the snort of laughter.

 

“Oh my  _ gods, _ that was lame.” Harry chuckles, taking his space back near the mate mark.

 

“You find it funny.” 

“Blame it on the orgasm.” Draco tilts his head back as Harry presses more kisses all over his neck, enjoying the attention tremendously. It was kind of funny. Draco had actually thought he’d go back to being shy after his heat craze had died off. Instead, he finds himself being bolder than he usually would about sex and sexuality. It probably had something to do with that overwhelming sense of  _ safe _ that kept running through his veins. That the room smelled of them and only them, that his mate was lavishing attention on him heartily, making him feel loved and appreciated and his omega puffs up in pride. 

 

_ Look at my alpha, how he cares for me, _ it said. 

 

Draco hugs Harry closer, raking his nails along his back sensually as he hiked a leg around Harry’s hip and pressed him closer, giving a light moan and he feels his erection slide along his thigh and hearing Harry moan into his skin and it sent sparks of arousal through his veins at being the one to coax them from his alpha. A completely different feeling than when he was in heat. 

 

_ Watch how well I can appease my alpha, _ his omega whispered to the world as Harry moans his name as he rocks his hips forward to gather friction. 

 

_ “Harry,” _ Draco murmurs back, a seductive tone in his voice he didn’t know he had in him, pulling Harry into a kiss and tasting himself on his alpha’s tongue and he wasn’t as disgusted at the thought as he typically would be as he urged Harry forward—  _ into _ him and the sensation of being filled while he was sober was on a whole new level and at this time, gobbling up Harry’s groan of pleasure, he could admit to himself that Hermione had the right idea about being fated for one other.

 

* * *

 

The first time they left the room, it was together (of course), but when they finally reached the mess hall where their friends were gathered, they’d been greeted with hoots and hollers. Harry was kind of embarrassed, more for the fact that it felt like they were newly weds just showing off how much they smelled like each other. 

 

“Hey Draco, did you enjoy yourself?” Ron asked, slathering on the tease. Draco’s cheeks go pink, but he keeps cool and collected. Draco grins, lips curling into a salacious smirk.

 

“Thoroughly.” He replied and then Draco did this _thing,_ which was more or less him just looking at Harry with those eyes of his; half-lidded and tempting and it lit a fire in his belly. His confidence damped the teasing, since the teasing was to make _him_ shy. Instead, it made _everyone_ _else_ shy. “Harry was more than adequate at meeting every, single, _one_ of my needs. Weren’t you, _Alpha?”_ Harry shivered at his tone of voice, at being called _Alpha._ He didn’t know whether he should puff out his chest in pride or growl his approval. Judging by the widened eyes and the reddened cheeks, he was pretty sure _some_ kind of growl worked its way out of his chest. Draco leaned into him more and Harry pressed a kiss to his neck. 

 

“You two are bloody disgustingly adorable.” Blaise says as he joins them, rolling his eyes at their very blatant public display. Draco snickers, pressing a kiss to Harry’s neck and it sent his nerves on fire. Because really, he knows Draco is teasing them for them teasing him and Harry, but  _ boy _ is Draco gonna end up with a handful if he keeps doing what he’s doing. 

 

Draco pulls away, but barely goes anywhere, still at his side, leaning into him a bit, Draco’s hand on his knee… yeeeuuup. This boy will kill him. Harry mentally shook off the thoughts, seeing as how Draco had stopped taunting him, for now. The hand on his knee stayed there, making occasional swipes of his thumb that felt more like a reassurance than a dare. 

 

Harry stole glances at him, attention always gravitating back to his mate like his entire world revolves around him. Harry pulls the scarf away, breath hitching as Draco leaned his head the opposite way in a blatant invitation and Harry couldn’t hear the hollers of his classmates as he leaned in to kiss the mate mark he left in a fit of passion. 

 

When Draco allowed it in public, these affections where subtle and implied. Harry's breath hitched, feeling possessiveness rush through him, kissing the mark a little harder. Draco turned his head when he finally pulled off, tilting his head in that cute little way he does when he wants a kiss and Harry’s mind tripped over itself as he leaned forward the capture those lips for all the world to see.

 

_ Mine, mine, all mine, _ his alpha croons happily, pulling back only for a second to catch the look on Draco’s face—  _ acceptance and reciprocity and approval.  _ Harry captured Draco’s lips again and again, the cheering in the mess hall white noise to the endorphins running through him, crushing Draco to him in a hug as he feels the smile curling his lover’s lips, Draco’s arms wrapped around him, pressing him close. 

 

_ All mine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I may or may not write an epilogue. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I had originally intended the epilogue to_ be _the final chapter but I wasn’t able to work out the flow for it to seem naturally progressing._

**Author's Note:**

> _If you like my work,[buy me a coffee!](http://buymeacoff.ee/xLWys1YhO)_


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